The Cycle
by thelast.thingido
Summary: It starts with one night that Emma and Mary Margaret share during the curse. And that opens up wounds and infects their lives. It brings out scars that were long thought buried. INCEST. Emma/Snow. Snow/Regina. Snow/Regina/Emma.
1. The Wound

**Warnings: Incest.**

And that means real incest. They are not cursed in this story.

AN: There is a lot of Snowing references. This takes place in season 2, after Snow and Emma come back from FTL. Cora never comes with them, and everything just kind of settles down afterwards. So this is going to be a trilogy, because I love to never end anything that I write. Just prolong my misery. Emma's POV for the limited perspective. Also Snow's quite a bit more manipulative and darker than I usually write her as. So that was really fun. Enjoy! And please let me know what you guys think.

* * *

 **Part I. The Wound**

"It's a wound. It keeps starting to heal and then she pulls it open again. Makes it bleed and sore, and makes the scar more noticeable. That's what loving her is like."

* * *

" _What did you do?"_

 _We were cursed._

 _And then the curse breaks and Mary Margaret, the school teacher and hospital volunteer, turns into my mom and holding my face like I'm some kind of baby Jesus sent back to earth to save them all. And the way she looks at me;_

 _Like it never even happened;_

 _Like, she traded one set of memories for another;_

And it's almost convincing.

* * *

"Emma, honey, can you grab the sugar?" She asks in that sing-song voice, like she's trying to call some birds to come help her make cookies. Instead, it's just a veiled attempt to get me to stop watching her as I sit at the kitchen counter. I may be sulking, or brooding, or something—and she's side eyed me a few times, asked a few times, all innocent 'what's bothering you' sort of questions. I can't tell her though. God, knows I can't, because she's not that person anymore.

Lucky her.

I sigh like the petulant teenager that I've been acting like all afternoon. It's only because I'm stuck alone in the house with her, David taking Henry off for 'guy time'. Oh, and Mary Margaret just beamed because that meant her and I could bond. Lack of bonding wasn't our problem though. It was just that we didn't bond in the right way. My feet drag as I move into the kitchen, taking the sugar out of a high cabinet and putting it down next to her.

"Didn't Granny ban you from participating in the bake sale?"

She stops and turns towards me, eyes narrowing at my small smirk.

"My baking isn't that bad."

"Yes, it is." My smirk grows, because it makes her scowl, and it reminds me how much I like teasing her.

And that reminds me how much I miss kissing her.

My smirk fades quickly, and I'm back to sulking, or brooding, or something. But Mary Margaret is turned back around focused back on perfecting her terrible baking skills. I don't even cook and I already know she put in too much sugar.

"Brat." She murmurs, then fiddles a little more. "These are going to be great." Her enthusiasm is like a stabbing in my heart.

Mary Margaret turns towards me, holding a finger up that has a bit of cookie dough on the end. "Here, taste it, and tell me if I put too much sugar in it." I know she's put too much sugar in it, but everything kind of blurs and buzzes, because she's closing the space between us, and she wants me to suck on her finger. Didn't even bother with a spoon. Now, I'm not sure if she's an idiot, or just cruel. _Maybe she really doesn't remember. Maybe it never happened._

 _Maybe I'm just sick and broken, and there's something wrong with my head—_

But then I see it click in her mind, her eyes shifting, and looking between us, realizing the suggestiveness of what she's asking.

Damned if I let her turn away, because I can see her starting, and I may never have this chance again. To at least open a dialogue about what happened.

At the very least.

I grab her wrist gently, keeping her close and facing me, as I dip my head down to her hand. My mouth opens, lips moving down over her knuckle, tasting sugar and the salt of her skin. I barely suck, mostly just move my tongue around the digit, wanting past the batter and to the skin. Her finger flexes once I do, curving just a little—pressing against my tongue.

My sight stay on her face the whole time, so I see her eyes flutter. She can't deny that. Or the gasp I hear as my tongue flicks at the tip of her finger.

The moment goes too fast, and I don't want to let her go, just to be replaced by an awkward tension, but I can't keep her finger in my mouth forever either. She's still looking at me though, still expecting.

So I start gently sucking on it like it's my thumb and I'm still five years old, and something about that spurs Mary Margaret on. Because I recognize the dark lust clouding up the green in her eyes, and that's turning me on in kind, making my eyes roll back in my head. I moan, and bite her finger, just as she starts to close the space between us.

But as soon as it happens, it gets taken away, her finger gives a soft pop as the former school teacher pulls away and I'm whimpering a 'why', but she's shushing me and putting some distance between our bodies. My eyes don't even have time to focus completely when I hear the bolt on the door start to unlock.

Damn it.

I don't even wait, don't even try to face David when he comes in with Henry, I just bolt it for the bathroom.

* * *

 _It was brief, like a flash of light, but that light was blinding._ A blinding night and morning after, memorizing every inch of her. Claiming it as my own, while she did the same. And I ate a terrible breakfast because she cooked it for me, her eyes shining like sunshine at me when I told her how much I loved her pancakes. They were raw in the middle, but damn it if her smile wasn't worth all the raw pancakes in the world.

 _It was brief, right after she was released from jail, and David was a just a bad mistake she made. So I got to be her new mistake, a regret that would last a lifetime._

We made out next to a half-eaten breakfast, and it didn't feel wrong. It felt like everything I've been lacking was suddenly clicking back in place.

But I am who I am, so her confessing the same things that I was thinking, in post orgasmic bliss on her couch— _it made me lose my mind for a minute. Made me try to run away and steal Henry, and the next thing I knew, she was my mother. Fairy tales are real. And I'm supposed to just forget about everything before._ Our camping trip from hell in the Enchanted Forest helped distract me, but now everything's still and quiet. And she's in my line of sight every moment, even when she's nowhere near me. It's like torture because I love her.

Which is what's supposed to happen, because of instincts—because _I'm_ _ **supposed**_ _to love her, just not like this_.

* * *

It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. I creep around the house a bit, knowing which boards make noise, stepping and side stepping just to be sure—just to get a bottle of water from the fridge. And I hear them. The noise of the bed shifting with their rhythm, it sets my face on fire and I sway on my feet—suddenly unsteady because of it.

I hear her whisper something, in that soft bedroom voice she uses.

Probably some direction or praise.

He moans, and I think I'm going to be sick.

My stomach is flipping at least. Maybe it's not nausea.

Before I can stop myself, I'm moving closer, finding a slit in the curtains, and this is sick—it's wrong…

It is.

I watch him fuck her anyway.

* * *

It's late in the morning, and I'm rushing to get to work on time. Scolding my throat on hot coffee that Mary Margaret makes for me, after she made a pot for David an hour earlier. He's already gone, but I'm still so exhausted from the night before. After my voyeuristic behavior when it came to their marital bed, I couldn't go back to sleep, just sort of drifting in and out, but nothing lasting. It was like torture, but speaking of watching, my new 'mother' is barely saying anything and just sort of sullen and to herself this morning. I'm rushing, but I still notice her eyes on me, until suddenly;

"How did you sleep last night?" She asks, and I feel a flush of heat burn at my ears. I go to grab my coat that's hanging by the door, patting my pockets to find my keys while I distractedly answer.

"Why?"

"I'm just asking." Mary Margaret shrugs and starts walking towards me, making me notice that she has my keys in her hand. "You look tired."

"So do you…" I mention, because she does, because _maybe it's driving her crazy too_. Then as she holds my keys out, my hand closes over them, and I say something very stupid. "Something keep you up last night?"

I try to pull the keys out of her grip, but she holds them tighter, forcing me to meet her eyes.

Searching eyes, looking for something on my face—and finding it.

"Just creaky floorboards."

Then she lets go of my keys and turns away. And I want to put my fist through a fucking wall.

* * *

It's just past noon at the station, I'm immersed in paper work, and I assume she's David when I hear her walk in. Until I finally look up and see her watching me. Just like always, my stomach clenches painfully—my heart aching.

"I brought you guys' lunch." Holding up two plain paper bags, and she used to do this before, during the curse. We'd eat lunches together either at her classroom or at the station, flirt a bit over sandwiches, my heart fluttering and her face blushing.

The memory almost makes me smile, until it doesn't, so I look back down and start scribbling away at my paperwork.

"David's out on a call." Is my mumbled response, causing Mary Margaret to sigh and walk further into the office.

"Well, then he can eat his later…" Then my bag is dropped down on top of the papers I'm working on, her tone noticeably snippy. "Here."

"Did you make it?" I finally ask, not really looking at her, but lifting my head at least.

"No, I got it from Granny's." As soon as the words come out, so do my hands, opening the bag and starting to spread out its contents on the desk in front of me. "You used to like my cooking." She says, making herself at home, sitting up on the end of my desk, close to wear I spread out my food. So hunger takes a back seat to how my stomach is suddenly flipping. _Her affect on me—it gets worse every day._

"That was different." My eyes catch on her shifting to get more comfortable, adjusting the long and flowing beige skirt she wore today.

"How?"

Was this really what she wanted to do? Did she really want to talk about it now? Like this? It's like we're both trying to avoid the subject, avoid being an adult about this, because we both sort of never grew up in a lot of ways.

"It was flirting." My face flares red when I say it, my eyes not meeting hers. There's so much shame and guilt just tied into the simplest confession.

"So…you don't really like my pancakes?" Mary Margaret asks with a coy tone, playing innocent and pulling my sight to meet hers.

"I like your pancakes." It's sort of mumbled under my breath, a sheepish smirk playing my lips, and growing when her smile of sunshine and bright eyes reflect back at me. Her hand cups my cheek, thumb gently stroking my face.

"There's that smile."

I lean into her touch, and move my chair closer to her, from her subtle urging. Like I'm one of those birds she puts her hand out to, and it's instinct or love—or something, because they always flock to her.

"I was so happy to have found you…my daughter." She finishes, in a pained whisper, and my face falls a bit, my head lifts away from her, because it's becoming clear that this is all she's going to see me as. With a quick move, her fingers grip my retreating chin, holding gentle but firm, and keeping me in place. "Don't think this is easy for me."

We don't say anything for a while, and I feel like a scolded pet, even though she loves me, and I know it—but it's my fault. I keep making messes everywhere I go. I can't just be good for her. The thought breaks my mind apart for a moment, causing me to move closer to her in my chair, not wanting to see the pain in her eyes, but not wanting to give up this contact either. The only intimacy I'm allowed. So my head rests on her lap, her hands shifting to run fingers through my hair.

"I just…" I say weakly, my breath against the material of her skirt. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." Mary Margaret is all maternal comfort in her voice, taking in a ragged breath. "So badly, Emma."

There's such a big part of me that wants this to be enough. That wishes, more than anything, for just this. Just comfort and support and love, but the feel of her hands touching me only reminds me of things it shouldn't.

It reminds me that we used to eat lunches together, and we used to flirt. One time at the police station, she sat opposite of me at my desk, and I was laying the charm on a bit thick, but she was just receptive to it. So affected. Even though she was seeing David at the time, she still acted single around me. Even though I could tell she loved him, I pretended she didn't.

I almost choked on my sandwich that day, when she asked me so coyly;

"Do you think about me?" I whisper against her thighs, but she hears me. Her hands that are running through my hair stop.

That day, I told her 'maybe', and blushed.

Now Mary Margaret isn't saying anything, her grip on me gains strength and I feel her hips shift so slightly against my head. So receptive. So affected. I continue the script from my memory, and repeat the words she said to me months ago.

"What am I doing? When you think about me?"

It was such a brazen question at the time, especially coming from the school teacher's mouth. It made mine hang open and face flare up. Now my whole body is on fire, and my hands move down her thighs slowly, moving along the material of her skirt. I feel her nails start to dig into my scalp.

'You're here…' I told her, and she looked around the station.

My hands find the hem of the flowy material, bunching it up in my hands.

'No, Mary Margaret. **Here.** ' I pointed to the top of my desk.

That day, I pointed to where she's sitting right at this moment. That memory makes me think— _she could be doing it on purpose…because she knows I'm weak. I'm so weak for her._

I never had the guts to finish talking about my fantasy to her, but from the look on her face, I could tell she knew exactly what she does when I thought of her. As for now, my eyes roll back a bit when I feel the soft skin of her calves, my fingers tracing the contours of her legs, and when she shifts again—when her hips move—it's because she's spreading her legs. Nails in my hair, and my head turns against her to breath in her scent.

It's intoxicating.

A loud bang jolts us both suddenly, my head snapping up and I push my chair away from her with my hands up—instincts for getting caught doing something I know I'm not supposed to be doing. I realize what the sound is when I look up and around the station. David is coming through the front doors, quite loudly and half dragging a drunk and disorderly behind him. I'm standing because Mary Margaret is already on her feet and halfway out my office door, without a single glance back at me.

And I feel like _it's_ _a wound. It keeps starting to heal and then she pulls it open again. Makes it bleed and sore, and makes the scar more noticeable. That's what loving her is like._

* * *

I'm watching them have sex again, and realizing that this isn't her torturing me. I'm the one opening wounds and torturing myself. Destroying myself, just like always, because I don't deserve the things I want. So I just find ways to kill it.

She would be a good mother, I think while I watch the barely visible shadowed outline of their rhythm. I see one of her hands gripping roughly into his shoulder. It's too bad she never got a chance to be a mother with me. We were never supposed to have that, but maybe she could have another baby. A random question hits my brain, wondering if he's using a condom.

My arms wrap around my stomach, because the nausea is back. Except that's not what it is. I know what it is.

And I get light headed when I focus my senses enough to hear her heavy breathing, because mine is so shallow, I'm barely breathing at all.

I can't let her know that I'm watching her, even though she already knows.

She looks at me the next morning, and I can tell she knows.

 _She would be a good mother, just not to me._

* * *

It's late, and I don't need her to tell me that. But it's the first thing that comes out of her mouth once I answer my phone.

"Emma, it's late." She sounds concerned but it could just be controlling, so I roll my eyes, not in any kind of mood for this.

"My shift's not over." I reply, adjusting the knobs of my squad car radio, which has remained annoyingly silent for the last hour.

"You're the boss, ask yourself if you can come home early." Because she knows I don't need to be out here, but I don't need to be home either. Sometimes it's suffocating, in that small apartment with the four of us, and she makes it so hard just to exist with her. She stands too close, she smells so good, and I just need a little space. Mary Margaret isn't fond of giving me space though.

"I'm be back soon." I try to appease, or compromise, because as it stands I'm not wanting to even talk to her, let alone argue with her. "Just go to sleep…" But I have a big mouth and a tendency to put my foot in it. "Or, take advantage of me being out." My voice is full of childish indignation.

"David's asleep, if that's what you're asking." She says with a tight tone, and I can tell she's getting annoyed.

"That wasn't what I was asking." I snapped a bit. "I don't even think I said anything in the form of a question."

The sound of her sighing sounds loud in the phone.

"So, more of the cold shoulder? Is that why you're parked on the side of the road with the squad car, pretending that you're working?" My body goes alert at that perfect description of what I'm currently doing, sitting up and looking around for any sign of her.

"Are you…?"

"I just know you." She says, a little too sure and proud of herself.

"I'm on a stakeout." My voice sounds just as childish and stubborn as my pout does while I settle back into the seat.

"Come home." Mary Margaret all but orders, and I roll my eyes.

"What do I get if I do?" There's a pause at that, and for a second I think that she might be in more of a playful mood than she's letting on, but it only lasts a second.

"A warm bed to sleep in." Her snips, and I imagine her pacing the apartment in some conservative blouse buttoned all the up to her nose, biting her nails and worrying about grown adults that can take care of themselves.

"What do I get if I don't?"

"Punished." She replies so matter-of-factly, and I feel my mind blank and my stomach tighten. It's just a word. It doesn't mean anything. It shouldn't affect me so much.

"Oh, you're going to ground me?" I'm trying to play it off, seem unaffected but I can feel myself stumbling over my words.

"What would you consider punishment?" Her question actually sounds sincere and curious, so without even thinking I say;

"You."

And then there's a heavy silence. And I'm torn between guilt and regret, getting pulled by my anger at her for never talking about this, and by the anger I have at myself for not being able to let her go. I can't help it though, I love her. Just not in the way that I should.

"Okay." Mary Margaret finally says, not hurt or dejected like I thought, but more final. Like she just came to a decision. I feel my features scrunch up in confusion.

"What?"

There's a pause, and I hear sounds of her walking in the background. Creaking floorboards.

"Are you coming home?"'

Another pause, and I consider if she's bluffing with her vague threats.

"No." It's challenging, as much as I can make it be at least.

Then there's more sounds of her moving, and I can't place them exactly, but I hear them because she's not talking anymore. I almost think she's waiting for me to hang up, but I hear what I think is the couch as she sits on it.

Then there's breathing.

Heavier than it should be, and something about it—…it makes my stomach start to flip.

"Mary Margaret?" Then I hear another breath, shakier than the last. And it makes me stop breathing all together. I know that breathing. I've listened to it from a room away. I've listened to it when it was against my ear in her bed.

My throat goes dry but I can manage a strangled;

"What are you doing?"

She doesn't answer, but now I'm imagining her half lying on the couch, an abandoned book on the coffee table, dressed in one of my oversized shirts and nothing but a pair of panties underneath it.

It's easy to imagine because I've come home a few times in the last year seeing her wearing just that. She makes some excuse, like it's laundry day or something, but I know it's because she's been thinking of me.

"Are you touching yourself?" I ask, voice strained and quiet, not wanting to miss even the slightest of sounds. She doesn't respond, not with words, but I hear the familiar creak of couch cushions in the background of her breathing—her breathing right into the phone, and I swear I feel it on my cheek.

My imagination pictures her knees bent, and heels digging into the couch cushions. One hand moving under the thin cotton of her underwear—and it's so wet. I remember, I was surprised at how wet she was for me that night. And she still is, wet and tight. Her body moving with the rhythm of her fingers, sweat beading on the back of her neck, and her bangs falling in her eyes a bit.

I shift in my car seat, getting more and more aroused, and not wanting to take care of that while I'm at work on the side of a dirt road by myself. So my hand grips the steering wheel, tighter and tighter as her breath hitches, and I hear her moan quietly.

It feels like time stops, only keeping count by the sound of her breathing as I close my eyes. I can tell she's getting close, and I want to help her over the edge. I want to stop being frozen by her power over me and take control, make her come for me.

"Are you coming?" Mary Margaret asks says suddenly, raspy but authoritative. My eyes open, getting jolted out of my fantasy.

"Am I…what?" I croak, another subtle wave of arousal goes through me at her words.

"Home." She clarifies, sounding more clear minded. "Are you coming home?"

Oh God. She's wants me home, she hasn't even finished yet, and I can't get my car started fast enough.

"Yes. Yes, right now. I swear."

"Good. Make sure you're quiet when you do," Her voice has a scolding tone, and it makes my body freeze before I shift into gear. "I have an early morning and I don't want you waking me up." Her voice feels like a bucket of ice water dumped on my head, and she hangs up immediately after.

Staring at my phone for a moment, with a dumb and blank expression on my face, and then I curse and slam my palm against the steering wheel. Even as I'm fuming, I still put my car into drive, and head back home.

I was right when I said it. She is my punishment.

* * *

She's practically throwing it in my face tonight. She's all over him, cuddling on the couch, kissing in the kitchen, long and slow kisses that she's so good at doing. The kind that make you lose track of time and all you focus on is the pressure in you, building and burning. Henry is off on a school camping trip, because otherwise they're not this bad—at least, David's usually not this bad. But they come home from a late dinner half drunk, so she eggs him on more than usual. Looking at me the whole time.

She's trying to torture me.

I go to bed early, lying down and staring at the ceiling for a little while. At least, for as long as I need too, thirty, maybe forty minutes, and then come back out into the living room to see all the lights off.

I'm used to it now, maneuvering through the living room, knowing where to step and how to shift my weight. Other things though, I'll never get used to, like the sound of her moaning—that's like a punch in my gut, and I stumble on my steps because of it. The opening in the sheets that usually blocks my view is obvious, left open on purpose because of her. She wants me to watch them, and just that realization settling in my head reminds me all over again how sick this is. How something so sweet and innocent can be twisted so quick, because we were pure love once, for one night—and now it's just **fucking**. Fucking sick while she fucks him and fucks with my head, and _maybe a part of me thinks—for just a second—that you're right. She has a darkness in her that no else sees_ , but I see it. I see him between her legs, taking her harder than usual, no doubt it's the alcohol in his system making him more bold, louder and faster—and it makes it hard to breathe. Because when I look at her, she's looking right back at me.

They're still both half clothed, not even bothering with things that require thought, and his large hands are gripping her hips fiercely, pulling her against him. And her breath catches every time.

Looking right at me.

I bolt towards the bathroom, not caring if he hears, though I doubt it what with how focused he seems. I feel like I'm going to be sick though—I feel nauseous, but a part of me knows that's not what it is. As I shut the door then lean my body against it, breathing heavy and my arms wrap around my stomach. Every time I close my eyes I see her watching me, with her hand wrapped around the back of his head, keeping him low and against her shoulder. There was so much need in her eyes, that desperate need for me.

For a moment I debate if I'm going to throw up or—

One hand moves under the waistband of my pajama pants, finding nothing but a wet desire. But it's still sick and wrong, so I really shouldn't be so ready for the touch, my legs shouldn't be shaking and I can barely keep in my own whimpered noises. I hear the door creak under my weight, as I push my fingers inside me, moving faster. I just need to finish quick, just to get it out of my system, then I'll be fine. Everything will be okay.

My mind pictures us back before the curse, back in her bed when it was only hers, and our hushed whispers of new love is all that's heard as my lips gently explore her. Her hands soft in my hair, and it's nothing but Mary Margaret blushing and nervous breaths. It's beautiful, but it's not enough, so my fantasy goes darker, with me between her legs—her hands tied to the headboard, begging for me. Because I'm the only one who can give her what she needs, and it's sick and wrong but there's nothing we can do about it. She'll come for me, over and over, until she can't take it anymore. After everything, all her teasing and denial and making me watch her—she deserves it. And when she's close, I'll whisper in her ear; _Come for me, mommy._

And she does.

And so do I, hard against my fingers—my body shaking so much that I can barely stay upright. I come harder than I should have, with what my mind is filled with, and that alone fills me with shame immediately after. I just want to lay back down in bed, and maybe cry myself to sleep, because I haven't done that in a few days, so maybe it's long overdue.

No part of me wants to see myself in the mirror above the sink, so I wipe my hand on my pants quickly before turning and opening the door—which puts me face to face with Mary Margaret. She's leaning on the door frame with a dreamy look on her face. As if she's been there the entire time, and my whole body flares into a blush, because of course she has. Of course she listens to me, just like I watch her. There's a ghost of a smile on her face, like this is a game she's winning, and I look over her pink cheeks and glassy eyes, her rumpled outfit, and I wonder if he made her come. Or if she had to close her eyes and think about me still standing there to be able to reach that climax—

"What do you want?" I ask suddenly, voice rough.

"The bathroom." She says with a dreamy tone, probably still half drunk. "I was going to grab a shower before you stole all the hot water in the morning."

My head starts to unravel again, imagining her showering and wondering if David is asleep. Wondering if I can get away with it—

I stop my trail of thought though, shaking myself back into a guilt filled mindset, and I don't take her bait, instead opening the door more so that I can get out of here. When I walk past her though, our hands touching, my fingers that still feel wet from my need touches hers, and I swear I feel her lean into the touch. I swear I hear her sharp inhale.

And it's like torture.

* * *

I make the plans without telling anyone. Not Henry, or David, and most importantly, I don't tell Mary Margaret. So my stomach is heavy with dread, while David and I are getting ready for work one morning, both drinking coffee that Mary Margaret makes us. Henry is already on his way to school, and I can hear the rain pick up outside on this dreary morning.

"I was wondering if you could watch Henry tomorrow, I have a meeting with a realtor." I say into my coffee cup, and watch her freeze in her task of cleaning up the kitchen. David comes into my line of sight, a confused look on his face, so I sigh and put the cup down on the kitchen counter.

"Why?" Mary Margaret doesn't so much ask, but it's more like a warning.

"I'm moving." My strength is forced, clearing my throat to gain as much as I can. "I think it's time I get a house. One big enough for me and Henry." The reasoning is completely logical, and this would definitely happen eventually. There's nothing wrong with the words by themselves, and at least David seems to see that. Mary Margaret is fuming though.

"What brought this on?" He asks softly, and I look in his wide eyes and feel the understanding and warmth that's absent from his better half. I manage a small smile for him because of it.

"It's too cramped here, it's just too—…" I look back at her, and feel it like a weight on my chest. "Much. I need some space."

"I know what you needing space means." She responds tensely. "It means I'll barely ever get to see you."

"Maybe that's for the best."

She's quite and debating after that. Silent but heavy, and both me and David feel it—both of us wanting to bolt under the weight of her glare. We really are quite a lot alike. Part of me knows that's why most of this happened, and it's still happening. There's too many similarities between me and my father.

"David, give us a minute?"

"That's not necessary—" I try to interject even as he's making a mad dash to grab his coat. Still some of that cursed cowardice lingering in him, I think.

"Just one minute, is that too much to ask?" She snaps, and I'm quiet after that, rightfully scolded. This is going to be a lot harder without David as a buffer, I think as I hear the door shut behind me, signaling his exit.

Mary Margaret's face instantly softens, in a non-believable way, smiling and taking a few steps towards me.

"Baby…" She says softly, reaching out for my hand, but I pull away, her voice is luring and it's making a haze fall over me like always. I won't make it that easy for her though.

"Don't call me that." Her face falls, looking hurt and I take a step back, looking away. "I know you know…You know I watch you, and—" She never talks about it, she does it and then acts like nothing ever happened. "And it's driving me crazy. It's like torture, being this close to you, and never being able to…" We're both just so terrified to say it out loud, to give it a definition, like me being attracted to my mother, to give it a name like incest.

"To what?"

My hands run through my hair, resisting the urge to pull it out by the fistful.

"You know **what**." I say through gritted teeth, glaring at her. Something on my face makes her recoil away from me slightly. "I'm in love with you, that's what." And god damn it, if she pretends like she doesn't even hear me.

"This is conflicting for me too…" She considers her words, swallowing hard. "I mean—Of course I love you." That makes me scoff at her convenient denial dressed as a confession. "But, you're my daughter."

I want to punch something. Keep punching until my hand is bloody and broken. I want to hurt myself, and the urge is terrible and impossible to ignore.

"No I'm not." I yell, and it stuns her, mouth open but no sound coming out. Looking at me like she doesn't even recognize me. Finally. "I'm not some child you raised, and you're nothing like a mother to me." I'm loud and my voice is cracking as all my anger and frustration pours out. "You're just some roommate that fucked up my entire life—and I **hate** you for it. I hate you so much."

And if I ever needed to know the worst thing I could say to her, then I just found it. I can practically hear her heart breaking as a strangled and quiet sob breaks out of her lungs, making tears spring to my eyes, matching hers.

"Don't say that." She whimpers, and I can't take it anymore, reaching out for her, only to have her turn around sharply. Her hand are fists, shoulders shaking, and back to me.

My anger's gone, but nothing good replaces it, and all I want to do is die so I don't have to feel it anymore.

"I can't do this another day." I finally say, and Mary Margaret sniffles a bit, and it sounds so pathetic that I can't abide her personal space anymore, moving my hands on her shoulders, and trailing down her arms. Turning her around to look at me with our hands interlocked.

"I can try harder." She half-whispers, trying to find a new hope speech, but it makes me feel empty inside. "I can, Emma." She insists, taking a step closer to me. "I'll try to be a better mother to you, and maybe, after a little bit of time—"

"Time won't make this go away." And I know deep down that moving to the other side of town won't make it go away either. Nothing will— _Then the thought strikes me, something somebody said once. Maybe Gold, maybe just somebody in passing._ "But I know what will."

 _So I leave, and I come here._

 _Because it's not fair. When I wanted parents and a family—this wasn't what I meant. This damned curse ruined everything. It broke, but we still didn't get our happy endings, so you have to help me._

 _You owe me that much, at least—_

* * *

"I need _help_ , Regina…" I plea, watching her stay emotionless and her line of sight staying on the glass of whiskey she's holding with both hands. It's her second glass and my clothes are almost dry from the rain that's picking up outside. Her mansion was where she stays most of every day now, so I know I'd be able to find her here. So utterly desperate to make my heart stop bleeding and breaking at every moment.

We're in her study, sitting on opposite sides of the couch, and she's been so quiet the entire time. As I pour out my guts, all my secrets and every shame I have, she just drinks and listens and stares into her glass. It makes me want to die.

Finally I hear Regina clear her throat, and finally she looks up at me.

"What would you have me do?" Her voice is rough as if she's the one who's been talking and rambling nonstop for the last thirty minutes. "My only specialty is killing Snow White, which isn't what you're asking for." Another drink from her glass is gone, and I glance at mine untouched on the coffee table. "Though the urge is becoming prevalent." I shake my head at her increasingly hostile tone.

"It's not all her fault, it's because of the curse breaking."

"So you keep saying." She murmurs sarcastically.

"I know you couldn't possibly understand—"

"Don't." Regina snaps in a tone sharp enough to jolt me, all ice running down my spine, and there's too much emotion in her eyes to decipher. "Just…don't." She repeats much softer, trailing off into an almost whisper.

"I need a spell." I finally say, revealing that my reasons for this impromptu visit wasn't simply for a therapy session. "A memory spell. I heard you knew about them."

"Of course, but…" Regina's face clears, becoming more professional and logical, talking about a subject she's more comfortable with. "It won't help you with your problem. You need to be wanting to erase something specific. A specific memory, or specific emotion—and I don't recommend the latter." Her hand waves absently in the space between us. "If you try to get too broad about what you're erasing, you end up giving yourself a magical lobotomy."

That made sense, as much sense as anything did since I came to this town. I consider her words and she's patient as I collect my thoughts. She's been cold and angry about my confession tonight, but she hasn't been cruel. I really thought she would be, at least a little. I don't really know what to make out of it.

"The night I spent with her, before the curse broke." Finally I say, a blush starting back up my neck as I feel her eyes on me. "That's when I fell in love with her. Take that away, and everything else will just feel like…" Tears start to sting my eyes, before I can stop it. "Nothing. Just a bad mistake."

Regina sighs and stands, taking both our glasses back to the bar.

"Are you sure?" She asks as she cleans up, giving me distance enough to compose myself.

"What other choice do I have?" A long pause settles after that, until I finally look over to her standing to the side, and our eyes meet.

"What will I get in return?" Regina asks seriously, but the words sound awkward and forced in my ears. Like she's trying to play Gold, but it doesn't suit her one bit. We both know what she wants though, so of course she is going to use this to get it. Can't even really blame her. Still a cold settles in my voice when I answer.

"You know what."

Henry. No one will let her take him permanently, but I haven't even been letting him come over to the house. Guess that has to change now, with the satisfied smile settling on her face, and there's a little gratefulness in there too.

"My crypt, tomorrow night at eight."

* * *

It's not until the late afternoon that I do come home. Taking a long time to think, and maybe making a stop at the Rabbit Hole to gain some liquid courage. As it stands, I'm too much of a coward to even face her alone, waiting until I know that David and Henry are home. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, is more strategic than I am, probably all those years leading armies or something. Because when I get home, she's the only one there to greet me. She must've convinced them that we need some alone time. Which is exactly what we don't need. A lack of **bonding** isn't our problem.

She's on the couch when I come through the door, and already I want to bolt, because she looks pissed that I made her wait so long. I'm regretting that I didn't drink more.

"Where were you?" Her voice sounds anxious and hurt, despite the stern features, and it gives her strength away. It makes it impossible to lie to her, when I see her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Regina's." Mary Margaret's confused for a moment, until I avert eye contact with her and something about that clicks in her brain.

"No…" She whispers in shock and there's betrayal in her tone as well, and it feels like a punch in my chest.

"She's going to fix this." And maybe Regina wasn't the best choice, but she was the only choice. Gold would never do it, and Blue would never let her live it down.

" **No**." She demands, voice loud in the empty space of the living room, but if she would just give me a chance to explain—

"She'll take it away, poof, like it never happened." At least, never for me, and it could be for her too. If she drank it with me, we could both start over. It has to be done willingly though, Regina made that part clear. But Mary Margaret's eyes are as hard and stubborn as always.

"Emma, it's never that easy. Magic has heavy consequences."

"I don't care!" I yell out, because it's like she isn't even **listening** to me. This whole time, she hasn't heard a word I said. "As long as I can stop thinking about you, than I don't care."

Her face falls from stern to just sad, taking a few steps towards me and close the space between us, but I turn my head to the side so I don't get lost in her eyes.

"You can't do this. You're hurting yourself, because of me, and I won't let you." Mary Margaret cranes her neck to try and gain eye contact back, her words sincere and painful.

"I can't keep going on like this though."

"Tell me what you need then. Tell me how I can fix this."

"I don't think you can." I whisper, making my wound open up like a flower of blood, all over again. The words are full of fear, and she shakes her head in denial of them. It hurts so much. There's so much I'm going to lose, so much I've already lost that can never be given back. There is no happy ending here. There's nothing but broken people trying to play house. It breaks my heart and it breaks hers in kind. "Mom." I practically sob, saying it for the first time, tearless but broken—desperately pleading.

It barely takes any time at all for her to come to a decision after that, reaching up and gripping the back of my neck, leading me to her. And then she kisses me.

"Please…" She whispers against my cheek, the quick passion of her kiss leaving me lightheaded, and her fingers move down, quickly trying to undo the buttons of my blouse.

And I should stop her, and I almost do, but when my body starts to pull away from her, she stops her task and grabs the collar of my shirt, jerking me back. Her hold is strong, and hard enough to hurt. But there's nothing but love in her eyes. Love and desperation.

"Emma, please I need all of you." I don't pull away again, her head dipping down and lips attach to my neck. A moan escapes my throat before I can stop it, and Mary Margaret pulls at my arms to get them wrapped around her waist. "I can't do this without all of you." Her voice is wet against my skin, and of course, it doesn't take more than this. My fight is given, with all I have left to fight with, and now she's begging me—she's begging for me, for all of me. Those soft green eyes that remind me of love and comfort, pleading and full of lust. How did I even wait this long? There's no one alive that's strong enough to say no to her.

My lips crash against hers, and it fits like the first time we ever kissed. Feels good like the first time. It's nothing like the first time though, because there's a built up tension being released between us, making us crash together. Her mouth is opening instantly, as she sets our pace, full of tongue and teeth and desperation.

The way she moans into my mouth when I bite at her bottom lip.

It's enough to bring me to my knees.

Not wanting to wait, or see if we'll be interrupted, we both work on finishing off the buttons of my blouse, and once it falls to the floor her hands are on me. They feel cold against my overheated skin and it makes me shudder in pleasure from the contrast. Walking back and pulling me with her, both of us moving closer to her bedroom, but our pace is slow because it's hard when her body is against mine, and her fingers move over my back and along my shoulders.

"I missed you so much." It's a half moan and half statement from me, while I revel in the warmth of her neck, more nuzzling than it is kissing. This is worth so much more than sex, worth so much more than just one night. It's a hole in me that's being filling to the brim and then some. It's me trying not to fall apart from the lightheadedness that's she's causing. Mary Margaret shushes me and runs her hands through my hair, an action so innate to both of us, I feel like she's done it a hundred times before. "Tell me." I plead kissing her jaw and moving us past the curtained sheets to her bed. "Do you think about me?" Even though it's a validation that should seem obvious without being said, I still need it. I need her to say it.

"Every moment." She whispers before I kiss her again, swallowing up her love and affection like a black hole swallowing stars. I feel her hands move down and work on the button of my jeans, and it reminds me that she's still clothed and I'm about to be naked. And that's a damn shame. So I break away to take a look down at her simple pink and floral sun dress she's wearing, and missing shoes that must have already been kicked off sometime during our struggle to get to the bedroom.

My hands reach around find the zipper on the back of her dress, which makes her pull away slightly.

"I need all of you too." I whisper, close to her ear, and watching the goose bumps rise on her neck. Finally, she softly nods, and I pull the zipper down with a shaky hand. The dress pools at her feet making her step out of it while my eyes scan over her curves and beautiful pale skin. The arousal that hits my lower stomach is enough to make my knees buckle, and I know I have to get her onto the bed if I want to go any farther without embarrassing myself. It's not like I haven't been with her before. But then I realize that I haven't. I was with Mary Margaret, and the women in front of me is Snow White. She's more than just fake memories or a kind roommate. She's more than just my mother. She's my everything. And at the moment, my everything is watching me with bright green eyes that I want to fall into. So, I kiss her, and then I fall into her, both of us softly landing on the bed.

It takes almost no time at all for my hands to reach behind her, snagging on the clasp of her bra, but she stops me this time with a mischievous smile and a glint in her eyes when she tells me that she wants to see me first. With a frustrated sigh I'm back on my feet, undressing fully and my modesty is pushed back while I keep my eyes on the prize of her body.

Once I'm hovering back over Mary Margaret, the feeling of skin on skin makes me groan. I pepper kisses along her jaw and down her neck, and I get no protest as I reach around and unhook the white cotton material. When her bra falls away I'm granted the beauty of her heaving chest and perfect breasts, hard and pointed pink nipples make my mouth water. All I can do is stare and think without forming words. I move my head down to take one nipple into my mouth, but she stops me again. Her hands cup my cheeks tilting my head up so that I'm looking at her, with a dumb struck and confused expression.

"You said you hated me." She whispers, eyes big and full of emotion. I don't know what she means, but I want to fix it—I want to make her happy.

"What? When?"

"This morning, you said you hated me."

"No, I didn't mean it. I swear." It doesn't seem to appease her so I move up to be face to face to her. "I love you. I'm so sorry, I'll never lie to you again. I love you **so** much." I'm pleading, and the more I do, the more her smile grows until it's as bright as the sun, and I want to go blind staring at it. Telling her over and over again, all the love in the world, just for her. Then her hands go to my shoulders, shifting us so that I'm on my back and she's straddling my hips. There's a whimper I give at the loss of her under me.

"I love you too…" She whispers, leaning down to kiss me again, soft and light enough to make me feel like I'm flying. Flying right into the sun, because I'm burning up because of her. My hands fist in the sheets under me when I feel her body move low, the feel of her lips ghosting over my breasts. "Emma, tell me again."

As soon as the shaky confession of love once again comes from my lips, her lips close over my nipple, sucking gently and causing me to arch my back against her. Moaning out for her, my hips shifting against her thigh in a rhythm she sets with the way her tongue starts to flick. Soon after my admission of love, a string of praise pours out from me, mixed like a melody with my heavy breathing and light whimpers.

When the sensations feels like it's enough to kill me, she moves to my other breast, starting all over again.

I'm begging for her now.

Then I feel the cool air hit me, indicating her retreat and I watch her move up to be face to face with me, lips parted and panting, and pupils blown out from arousal.

"You're mine." She whispers, and my eyes are trained on her, so even though she says it almost too quiet to hear, I read her lips—I sense her words, and I answer her question that's meant as a statement.

"Yours."

Our eyes meet, both of us probably trying to gage each other's sincerity, but there's nothing but truth and love reflecting back. Mary Margaret's hand trails down while her eyes are trained on mine, I feel her nails scrape lightly at my stomach, and I feel her fingers moving against my folds. Her eyes flutter as she bites her lip from the abundant wet heat she finds, because I've never been so aroused before. Not with anyone—just her. And watching her be so affected by it is only making it worse. A single finger moves to circle my core, both of us feeling myself clench at the action.

So, I beg again. And I tell her I love her again. And I would do it again and again, for the rest of my life. I swear.

Mary Margaret sits up, to gain more sight and focus on her task, watching her mesmerized expression when I moan loudly as she pushes inside me. The rhythm starts out erratic and hard to gain focus on, along with her thumb that brushes lightly against my clit every other time she moves deeper. It's like torture. Then her hand pushes into my lower stomach, causing a pressure as she adds another finger to her thrust.

"God—" I gasp out, over whelmed by it all. And even by the lack of her, wanting more contact and intimacy, and still the bit she gives me is almost too much for me to bare.

"If you tell me to stop, I will." She whispers, an angelic reminder. As if I would ever want her to stop. Let it kill me, but I'll never turn away from her again. So she adds another finger, and a rush of stinging heat spreads out across my skin, feeling myself just gush for her. I hear her humming or singing or—no, it's humming. It's beautiful. "If I tell you to come, you will." I almost do when she says that, and as it stands I can barely keep my eyes open. I barely see her other hand move lower, but I certainly feel it, the way she pulls my clit between her knuckles. My body is tensing, coiling up tighter and tighter, so it's a bit of a surprise when she slows her thrusts to a near stop and tries for a fourth finger. I almost say stop. Mary Margaret doesn't force it though, only keeps the fingers one knuckle deep against my entrance. It feels like more, it feels like her entire fist, but I know it can't be, because I don't feel her inside me fully.

"Come for me." She says, as her other hand works against my clit, lighting me on fire. The order alone is having me see stars, and my whole body tightens and jerks, my hips thrusting in a rhythm while I come, pulsing against her fingers, and pushing them in deeper. Fucking myself on them. I think I come again because of it.

My back arches and thighs tremble, and I lose control of myself for a few moments, riding out the waves of the orgasm. When my mind finally comes to, I look up to see her with a finger in her mouth, cleaning up my mess. I whimper almost in pain, my body still too sensitive to be so aroused so quickly. She crawls up to me, letting me recover, but I don't need long if she keeps kissing me like this, giving me back lost strength and senses. Some of which I must be taking from her, because after I move her onto her back, she doesn't have a single protest or demand left in her.

* * *

It's later in the night, both of our energy's plateauing for the moment, letting a calm settle in the bedroom. Mary Margaret's body heat is still searing into me, pressed against my side and leaning up on one arm. She doesn't even let me pull the blankets back on the bed to cover with, saying she wants to soak in every inch. There's no first-time modesty from the school teacher like the last time we did this. All her intimate shyness is obviously something that was given with the curse. Even when she had a different persona though, I was still surprised, with all her blushing and such, she still had a skill and knowledge that I didn't expect. Maybe being with a woman isn't something that's new to her. My eyebrows knit slightly, thinking of the women from her land, and who she was close to. My mind lingers on Red, but then it just reminds me of Regina. And a wave of guilt flushes over me soon after, because I made a really bad decision by confiding in her, even if I don't see the consequences now, I know they'll come. It was rash and mostly done out of desperation and anger.

"What's wrong?" She asks me, noticing almost immediately that something is on my mind.

"I'm sorry for telling Regina." My voice is soft and shaky, waiting to be scolded for doing something so awful. "I shouldn't have done that—" Mary Margaret is quick to hush me though, soft noises that are reserved for things far more frivolous than this.

"It's okay, baby." Her voice is so soft and caring, it makes me turn a bit and curl up more against her body. I watch a look of consideration cross her features after a moment. "She does know though, and that's…going to be an issue."

"How can I fix it?" I ask, almost desperate sounding, because I **have** to fix this, to make this better—to make her happy. It's all that's in my head right now. After a long consideration, she looks at me directly.

"Let me take care of Regina." There's something in her tone. Something that sounds like a warning or a threat, but it's mild in its intent, and just leaves me sort of curious. "I know what's best in this situation, so you can't question me about it."

"What are you going to do?"

Mary Margaret sighs lightly, looking off into the distance, and I miss her sight on me already.

"Family has always been important to me." She's somewhere else when she speaks, I hear the distance in her voice. "It was the way I was raised, to protect that bond more than anything, and I treated Regina like blood. Even when I noticed her fading away from me, I still did whatever I had to do—…" She swallows hard and looks back at me with green eyes shining from the emotion. "She knows I'll do whatever I have to do to keep my family together." Her hand raises to run the back of her knuckles along my cheek. My body shivers pleasantly from the touch. The touch trails down, her eyes watching as fingers moved over the curve of my breasts. "I tried with her, I loved her like a mother…" Mary Margaret continues, voice still distant, mind still in the memory.

Then she snaps out of it, her face growing serious and she implores to me;

"Swear to me, Emma. Swear that you'll let me take care of our issue with Regina." Her hand moves lower still, over the soft muscles of my stomach. "Let me take care of everything." I try to focus on her words, her still serious tone and stern expressions, but her fingers—they move between my legs, to claim me as hers all over again. "You're the savior, and you did what you were meant to." It's almost a whisper, as my eyes flutter shut and I feel her lips against my ear. "Now you need to spend time just being mine…"

* * *

We spend the night alone together, in our own little bubble, talking and whispering, exploring each other. Making up rules and forming a whole new relationship. She tells me she isn't going to leave David, because this is about family. That it's bigger than just her and I. I understand, of course, because as long as I have her, I'm happy. It's funny, how I don't even realize that it's what I wanted all along. All the guilt and shame, all the wrongness of what we are, it just sort of melts away in her green eyes. They shine so bright and it's all love, all for me.

So when David comes back with Henry the next morning, I call him dad, and he tells me he loves me. That we're family.

* * *

We're at the diner a few days later, just finishing a late breakfast, so I'm enjoying her company while we sit side by side at one of the back booths. She has the paper laid out on the counter to read, and I'm reading her face, with my head on her shoulder.

"I love you, mom." It's getting easier to call her that—I'm getting used to it. Besides, with the smile she gives when I do, it makes up for the awkwardness. She insisted this morning, as she picked out a shirt for me to wear, one that would cover all the marks she left. Love bites, she calls it, so I call her mom. It's just a word. The love is real.

"Emma…?" I hear Regina's voice and my stomach sinks. I almost forgot, because it's easy not to remember when the only thing around me is Mary Margaret. Like a sensory overdrive. I lift my head off of her, and look at the former queen that is just a step or two away from our booth. She looks worried, and suspicious, and just like that the guilt and shame starts to bubble back up to the surface. "You weren't answering your phone last night." Her tight voice gives nothing away, looking back between me and my mother. "What happened?" The memory hits me tenfold, how I just laid out everything to Henry's adoptive mother. All the wrong and terrible things I did. There was no going back from that. There was no fixing this—

Suddenly I feel my mom's hand on my thigh, like an anchor. Like comfort. I look over to her and see her head still down, seemingly unaffected and still reading, but her thumb is rubbing insistent circles into my leg.

"We—…We worked it all out," The words tumble away while my sight lands back on the former mayor. "And everything's okay now."

"Really?" Regina responds monotone, her eyebrow arching. She isn't looking at me when she says it. "Can I speak to you in private?" She finally focuses on me, eyes growing a little intense and narrowed. I feel anxiety start to swell up inside me.

"You interrupted our morning together," My mom finally announces coolly before I can say anything else, watching her slowly look up to her step-mother. "So I think anything you need to say to Emma, you can say in front of me."

There's a moment between them that's full of silent considering, before Regina relents and quickly sits down across from us after taking a quick glance around the diner.

"Why would you stop me from fixing this?" She whispers, but it sounds like more of a hiss.

"Nothing's broken, not nearly enough for me to let you hurt my daughter." Her hand's still on my thigh, and it keeps me calmer. I try to remember that I swore I'd let her handle this.

"I wasn't going to—" Regina implores, actually sounding genuine, but a sharp tone from Mary Margaret cuts her off.

"Your fingers in her brain, **ripping** things out…" Both Regina and I look a little taken back by the raw emotion in her voice, her words cracking against our ears. "Ripping out her **love** for me…" My mom's free hand is a fist on top of the counter now, while she takes some steadying breaths. "I know how magic works by your hand, Regina."

I see the other woman's features harden when she hits the brick wall of her step-daughter's stubborn sensibilities.

"And I know how manipulation works by yours, dear." The former mayor leans in, hisses quietly, and with purpose. A purpose that's lost on me, but not on my mother, her jaw tensing at what Regina's saying. "You can't control her this way forever, I should know—" The older woman's throat closes, as her cheeks flair at her own words, glancing at me briefly. As if trying to keep in mind that I'm still in the room. Though with their intense back and forth, I can't imagine it would make a difference. "Snow, why would you want to do this?" My mom looks away, as Regina practically pleads. It's not a very convincing plea, but coming from the other woman, it's more crow than I ever expected her to eat. "She's your daughter."

I feel her hand tighten lightly on my leg, almost possessively, and Mary Margaret's eyes flare a little at her step mother's words.

"She's my **everything**. My love for her will never be darkened by your judgements."

Once again Regina hits that wall, and it makes her angrier every time. But my mother is too strong willed, and she told me while we laid in bed together, that nothing can break the kind of bond we have. Stronger than anything maternal alone, or anything of a simple lover. But we both know that there's no way others will understand.

"I'll tell." Regina announces suddenly, grabbing my attention immediately. I can practically see the blood boiling right underneath the older woman's skin. "I'll tell Charming…" She swallows hard, looking both angry and nervous as her eyes go towards me. "Henry."

"Like hell you will—"

I practically growl, full of anger and defiance, because if she says a single damn word to my son—but once the outburst happens, my mother's hand on my thigh tightens its grip, enough to bruise. Enough where I can't stop the flinch that crosses my face. Now Regina notices the fact that her hand is on my leg.

Mary Margaret's leans over and looks at me, shushing me sweetly, as if nothing in the world is wrong. I start to fall a bit into her eyes.

"She's not going to do that," She starts to say, talking about Regina. "Because who would they believe? Snow White and the Savior?" My mom starts to smile bright, but her eyes are dark and wild, and it makes a chill run up my back. Quick enough though, she looks back over to her step mother. "Or the evil queen that cursed them all here to begin with?"

There's a long silence at that.

"Who do you think Henry would believe?" She finishes, driving her point home, and there's a rage building in Regina, her hands curling into fists and a prominent vein popping out of her forehead. Even I know that the only thing in this world she hates more than losing, is losing to Snow White.

I'm overcome with the urge to leave before she blows up Granny's with some fireballs.

"Don't be upset with me." My mom finally says, soft and careful, staring into Regina's eyes that are shining with emotion and rage. "I'm only doing what I have to in order to keep my family together, and in turn, you get exactly what you want." Mary Margaret uses her free hand to dig her cell phone out of her coat pocket. "Full visitation, every other week. I'm texting Henry now to get his things ready for his stay with you." My eyes scan over her face, trying to see if she's lying, but I look down and she's doing exactly that. A part of me thinks I should have some say in this, but then I'm reminded that I swore I'd let her take care of it. I'd never want to break a promise like this to her. When my mother finishes, she put the phone back and smiles a 100 watts at Regina. "I think he'll be excited, and you two will have a great time."

The former mayor, on the other hand, still looks angry, but there's a contemplation behind her eyes as well. One that Mary Margaret seems to be ignoring, as she starts to move and get up, the hand on my thigh curls fingers around my own, leading me to a standing position as well. She sets some money down for the bill and smiles encouragingly at me. I almost smile back but I hear Regina's low voice filled with a terrifying darkness.

"This isn't over."

It doesn't discourage my mother in the slightest though, only meeting the piercing glare of brown eyes with a soft and understanding smile.

"Enjoy the time you have with your son, Regina. You know, there's nothing more important than family." She squeezes my hand and I follow her away from the booth dumbly, looking back at to see Regina standing as well, dark features only growing.

And even though I'd have no way to know, the smile that starts to shadow across the older woman's face is one of an evil queen, if I've ever seen it. I have to trust that my mother knows what she's doing, because I know Regina isn't lying when she says that it isn't over.


	2. The Infection

AN: This chapter is in Regina's POV (because if there's one thing everyone loves, it's first person and changing pov's lol) and its pairings are Snow/Regina with hints at Emma/Regina and established Snow/Emma. It takes place a few weeks after the first chapter leaves off. I really debated if I even wanted to add to this, because I loved so much how it turned out as a one shot, and I knew I could never replicate that or write another chapter that was equal to it. Which, I didn't, but I tried lol. If I'm able to finish the third chapter it will be in Snow's POV. I love all the great and amazing reviews I've gotten on this story, especially considering its taboo nature. Thank you all so much and I'd love any future feedback and comments!

Warnings: There's obviously a lot of mentions of incest (emma/snow), and they're in an established relationship. A few mentions of rape. Nothing explicit.

* * *

 **Part II. The Infection**

 _"She infects you, gets in your blood—under your skin, until you want to rip it right off of your bones. That's what loving her is like."_

* * *

The only thing that matters is Henry.

When he's with me, it's easy to only see him. The sweet and innocent face that's looked up to me all his life, and there's so few suspicious glares anymore. So few hateful words, it's enough to warm my heart until it burns. We keep each other distracted and busy, and with so much purpose that I've forgotten how little I have to do with my time when he's not here.

I'm getting more anxious now, as the week with him ends, and he's packing up his things. I'm nervously cleaning and organizing around him, trying to keep my hands occupied so that I don't hold him and never let him leave.

The only thing that matters.

We're in the living room when I hear the knock on the door, and I know who it is. He's watching me now, because I'm watching the door, and we're both seeing if I'll let him leave, which shouldn't be a worry of his. And it shouldn't be a threat of mine.

So I smile over to him and tell him to grab his bag.

The only thing that matters is gaining Henry's trust.

I open the door and Snow is standing there with a smile, which I don't return, looking away as soon as I see her. Henry shrugs his coat and bag on, giving a chipper 'hi' to Snow and moving towards the porch steps. Though he stutters to a stop a few steps away from me, and after he pauses and considers his actions for a moment, he turns back around and awkwardly stumbles into hugging me. It takes me aback, but I'm quick to return it as casually as I can, this show of affection not happening since even before the curse was broken. I try to relax into the embrace, but my muscles are tense and any joy that the hug can bring me is overcome with the anxiety of having Snow witness this rare moment.

He releases me with a small smile that I try to focus on, despite her shadow casting over half his face.

"I'm proud of you." He says it in such a sweet and genuine way, and all it does is make me angry that he waited until _now_ to say such a thing, not five minutes ago, but _**now**_. I smile back down at him, but even I feel my eye twitch when her voice filters through this moment she has no right to bring her darkness into.

"We're all proud of you, Regina." Snow says in her patronizingly sweet voice, and all the air is sucked from my lungs and I feel the vein in my forehead starting to pulse. My smile keeps as steady as it can as I focus only on Henry's green eyes. Trying to ignore another stolen happiness from me, even if it's more of a subtle taking.

Henry says goodbye once more, turning and jogging down the steps and towards her car. She stays next to me though, apparently thinking that I would do anything but kill her if she tries to say one more word to me. So I turn on my heels and go back inside the mansion, ignoring her saying my name as I slam the heavy wooden door in her face.

The action does nothing to satisfy my building rage, causing me to storm over to my bar. I look at the arraignment of bottles and glasses, trying to focus on a combination that would numb the ache in my head and kill my thoughts for just long enough to get through another day.

The only thing that matters is Henry. Gaining Henry's trust.

And it is so **fucking** infuriating because it isn't for the reasons that it should be—the reasons that I want to have him trust me. No, I'm only doing it so I can destroy Snow White, and not lose him in the process. How infuriating it is, because once again she has slithered her way into my brain, and just as before I'm infatuated with her destruction. She consumes me, taking over my actions and my thoughts, even thoughts of Henry are just overtaken by her face, and how much I wish it was only a bloody pulp under my fist.

My fists clench with my shifting thoughts, the rage building more and my arms reach out to the bar I'm standing in front of and push its contents on the floor violently with a strong and destructive swipe. Glass clashes on the floor along with the bottles and liquid splashing, leaving its wet and jagged destruction covering the area around me. My lungs finding its air and letting out a frustrated scream at the top of my lungs. Because I would rather die a thousand times over than have Snow White win. Just as she seems to do, a thousand times over.

Minutes and minutes pass, jagged breaths escaping my lips, but slowly they start to steady. My headache is getting worse, so I close my eyes and try to focus.

Henry is my rock, and my path to redemption. I know that, and I want that. I really do. It seems that path has its obstacles though, and Snow has become the biggest one. My relapse.

It's uglier than a simple addiction though, less of a want and more of an invasion. An infection.

There was a twenty eight year freedom from her, where I had killed her soul, killed **her** once and for all, but now she's looking at me like she loves me again, and I'm looking at her like I want to kill her. This cycle that never ends is going to find its end at my hands, just as my step daughter will. I just need to plant an infection of my own.

* * *

I know Emma feels guilt still about what she's doing with her mother. Something obviously as wrong as that can't simply disappear despite Snow's persuasion. So the best time to approach Emma is when she's most vulnerable, and the reasons for Snow to be at the police station so early, when it's her husband's day off, were limited. So, I wait outside, and just shy of a half an hour is when Snow strolls out of the front door, oblivious to me being parked a block away. The former princess makes a bee line to the diner, probably some breakfast to refuel. I can feel my teeth grinding and features twisting.

My stomach knotting.

And already I know I'm in a bad place, because I'm not torn up inside by what she's doing with her daughter. Not angry or obsessed over it because of their private sickness, or that I wanted to save Emma in any possible sense. This— **This** —was only because of Snow. Because she thinks she can do anything she wants. That she can just have everyone under her thumb—that she can **still** win—after _**everything**_ —

Focus.

I've been waiting weeks for the perfect opportunity to plant that seed of doubt, but after Snow picked up Henry the other day, my plans need to get a little rushed, if only for the sake of my sanity. Snow shouldn't be more than twenty minutes getting the food and coming back, and that's plenty of time to stroll into the sheriff's station with purpose. The click of pristine red heels was a stark contrast to the too tight black dress with a fitted black blazer that had a wide white trim. It was one of my more revealing outfits cut low and short, and completely inappropriate, but a part of me misses being out in the world with a purpose, and using my cloths as a method of intimidation. I didn't even realize I missed it so much until Emma catches sight of me right outside her office, her eyes going wide and jaw slacked from her seat at the desk. I smirk back at her as I open her office door to let myself in. Seduction isn't my intention, but any and every way that I can pull the savior away from Snow's grip, the better. Emma has a soft spot for me, and if I'm being completely honest, I suppose I have one for her as well. Similar features brings it out of the both of us. Her eyes linger just as Snow's did when she was young, and my mind has plotted the blonde's death numerous times as if instinct for her family name. I'm not naïve to the affect I have on her, but this is only about exposing the former princess for what she is; the real villain in this story.

"Sheriff Swan, hard at work?"

"Regina, what are you doing here?" She asks in hushed surprise, like I just snuck into her bedroom window while she was grounded. Her eyes skirting behind me to make sure I'm alone at least.

"Is that any way to greet a tax paying citizen?" I give her a warm smile and a light tone, walking up to her desk. "It's possible that I need to report a crime."

The nonchalance of the conversation does calm her a bit, letting her shoulders slump back into her bad posture as she gives a little chuckle.

"What, did someone steal the other half of your dress?" Emma jokes and looks at my body without being obvious, and she is always very subtle about her looks towards me. She's had a lot of practice. My steps bring me next to her, and I shift to sit on the edge of her desk, facing her.

"We both know the real crime would be covering up these legs." My legs cross for emphasis, feeling the dress ride up just a bit more. That makes the sheriff nervous, sight skirting once again to the entrance of the policed station, and moving her chair over so that there's a generous space between us.

"What do you want?" Emma mumbles and scribbling back on her paperwork, sentences so illegible, I doubt she's even writing real words.

"I've been feeling awfully hurt lately, Miss Swan. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding me."

"I'm not. I've just been busy." She's still not looking at me.

"I have quite an idea of what's been occupying your time, but I miss our little chats at my mansion." I continue, voice light but the insinuation is heavy. "When you confess your sins and I don't judge, I simply give all I have in helping you with your problem. That's the reason why Snow's been playing middle man to us." Emma looks at me then, but I pretend to be picking at my nails. "She doesn't want you to remember why you came to me in the first place. All that shame and guilt—" A sigh breaks my sentence, then pinning the sheriff down with my knowing stare. "You told me you saw that darkness in her, just like I did."

Emma shakes her head in denial, almost immediately. Almost. Then she stands but doesn't walk away, her hands on her hips for emphasis.

"I was wrong, and so are you. She loves me."

"She **fucks** you." My voice is sharp and carries a hint of disgust in it, eyes scanning over her none too subtly. "You reek of it."

The blush burns on her cheeks instantly and moves right down her neck, Emma's pale skin making it shine so bright.

"Get off my desk."

Ah, the desk. Of course.

I smirk and look down at my hands that spread out along its surface, my fingers gripping the edge and leaning back just slightly. I look up at her through my eyelashes.

"There's been a lot of getting off on this desk, hasn't there?"

She swallows so hard, I can practically hear it.

"At this rate, Charming is going to find out on his own." The sheriff scoffs and finally looks away, crossing her arms over her chest. "Or…does he already know? Are they tag teaming this special brand of parenting?" Just the thought makes me nauseous, but I say it with curious sort of glee as if we're just girls gossiping about trivial things.

"He doesn't know, and it's none of your business either way." She snaps, starting to get angry and defensive so I immediately soften into a more sincere demeanor.

"I only want to make sure that you're being careful. I can't trust Snow's word."

Emma's eyes narrow suspiciously at that.

"Careful? Like, so we don't get caught?"

"Yes. So my **son** who lives there half the time doesn't catch you." My sincerity turns to a tight and cold tone, because just mentioning him in this whole equation makes me want to destroy something. And just like that, the defensiveness comes back in her voice, because of course there's no fault of hers in any of this. She gets that from Snow.

"We would never do anything with him in the house. That should go without saying."

"You not fucking your mother should go without saying." I argue with a sneer and a sharp voice, about to lose my temper. Just thinking about how ridiculous and wrong this whole thing is, this thing that we're having a casual conversation about, it's enough to drive me right over the edge. Emma sees it too, so she's rolling her eyes and walking around her desk and moving towards the door to leave.

"Nice chat, Regina—"

"You think I don't understand, but that's not the case, Emma." My voice is terribly vulnerable now, trying to hold in the anger and shifting so quickly to something more kind. It just makes me sound broken, but it's enough to make her pause in her retreat. "A doting husband and a town adoring of her, and it's still not enough control." With a sigh, I hop off the desk and straighten out my dress, looking up to see her watching me curiously. "She wants everything, so she uses your emotions against you. She was with me for the same reasons."

It was a doting father and a kingdom when I was with her, but nothing ever changes, least of all her. I can tell right away that Emma isn't surprised at the confession, and thinking about Snow telling her daughter about her and I makes me nauseous again.

"I know you two had a history, she told me—"

"She told you." I interrupt, repeating her words sarcastically and with a shake of my head. "Let me guess? Just enough to keep you from asking questions? Her teary eyed and vague, and you comforting her any way you could?" Emma looks away with a tense jaw. "She infects you, gets in your blood—under your skin, until you want to rip it right off of your bones. That's what loving her is like." She looks back at me then, her eyes narrowing with both confusion and realization crossing her features.

"You loved her?"

I hesitate, caught off guard by the question, getting lost in my own brand of suffering, because her denial of what's happening is making me get a little too honest with my words.

"I know **you** love her." It deflect her focus, the soft tone causing shame to rise in her eyes again. "Try to say no to her, Emma. Stand up to her, do something she doesn't want, and you'll see." The sound of Snow coming back into the station echoes loud in the quiet that settles between the two of us, Emma glancing over nervously, but too stubborn to break away from me completely, because it would just prove her submission all the more. So, I take a few steps closer to her. "You'll see how quick her love for you turns into a punishment." I hear Snow stop walking and then she calls out Emma's name, trying to make it sound worried, but all it sounds like is a warning.

"You're lying." The sheriff snaps, and starts to turn away from me, until I grip her upper arm hard enough to thwart her escape, having her jerk back and angry eyes look at my cold ones, ready for a fight.

"You know I'm not." Is all I say, very seriously. No hint of anything but truth in my voice, and her eyes scan my face for a lie, surprised when she doesn't find it. Then I see it for a moment, a bit of that fog that Snow has clouded her mind with—I see it break and scatter and there's a clear minded and sharp sight of the woman I first met a year ago. Emma Swan comes back, because if I'm not lying, that means Snow really is using her.

Apparently though, the idea of that, faced with the consequence that involves losing her mother again is not something she wants to face. So just as quickly as it clears, her eyes flicker to the side, considering Snow, and it clouds all over again like a blizzard. I bite my tongue to keep from cursing or throwing a stapler, or grabbing the sheriff's gun and emptying it into that damned infuriating princess.

Instead I turn around and face Snow with a smirk to match her glare, casually strolling back out of the station and out to my car.

* * *

I expect her tonight, and she doesn't disappoint. Though, I expect her to knock like a civil person and not just let herself into my home, but I suppose that's my own misjudgments. She is a bandit with control issues, after all. The hairs on the back of my neck raise when I hear her enter the parlor that I'm standing in, turned towards the bar and pouring some new whiskey into an empty coffee mug.

"Breaking and entering is a crime, you know." I say, casually.

"Good thing I have an in with the police force." Snow retorts, making me turn around towards her, cup in hand and a sneer on my face.

"A **gross** understatement."

The former princess looks down at my coffee mug, then lower to the small garbage can next to the bar that is filled still with broken glass. She takes in the sight while I take in a generous drink.

"Emma told me what you said to her at the station." I expected as much, which was certainly half of its purpose, to make her nervous, bring her here so that I can shake some more cards out of her hands. "Of course your perception of things are as slanted as always." My eyes roll at her annoyed tone. Surely that's why I brought down destruction and curses on her head. Simple misunderstandings of perception.

"And you told Emma about us?" I ask casually, taking another sip from my coffee mug.

"Of course."

"And what was your perception? Did you tell her I raped you?" Her eyes narrow at my nonchalance, my completely uninterested tone at such a subject that means so much leverage for her. I won't let her use it though. "That you were nothing but an innocent and sweet girl that didn't know any better, and the big bad evil queen—"

"Don't try to turn my daughter against me. You'll regret it if you do." Snow threatens, interrupting me with a sharp and angry tone. Actually losing her temper before me, that's rare. So I tsk lightly at her for it, enjoying the small win.

"Careful with that leash, Snow. You'll end up strangling your pet."

"I don't own her. But her and I agreed that I would deal with this issue between us." She softens then, features and tone taking on that false compassion. "I still consider you my family, after all."

"Oh spare me your hope speeches of family bonding." I snap, not in any kind of mood for that hypocrisy, as I set my cup on the bar before turning back on her with a pointed finger and showing her how transparent she really is. "You know Emma would fold for me within minutes, **that's** why you keep her away. She's your weak link."

"Why, Regina?" Snow exclaims exasperated and pleading. "Why can't we let past be past?"

It's my turn to lose my temper now.

"I will never let you win." I growl through gritted teeth, taking a threatening step towards her. A long moment of tense silence swells between us until Snow looks down and shakes her head, so I step away and across the room for some distance before I do something I regret.

We're quiet for a while after that, and I want to kick her out, but at the same time I don't want her to leave. There's a small part of me that can't deny her presence gives me purpose as well. Not a healthy purpose that I should ever have, but I have it none the less.

"Then, can I at least get a drink? That is, if you have a coffee mug to spare." She asks suddenly, her voice much lighter than the situation calls for.

My eyes narrow at her because her intentions aren't well hidden, and it reeks of a desperate play, so I have to keep myself from laughing in her face. I really didn't expect this to be so easy. There's a moment that I consider digging out my '#1 Mom' cup from years ago for the irony of it, but the thought of her lips touching anything of mine makes me change my mind.

"Nice try." A sneer rises on my lips. "I know what drinks lead too."

Snow ignores my rejection, moving casually through the room and over to the bar. My eyes are on her like a hawk.

"Are you referring to the wine you gave me when I was 16?" She picks up the newly purchased bottle of whiskey, examining its half full contents.

"I caught you stealing it, there's a difference." My tone is quiet and suspicious, narrowing my sight on her nonchalance.

"I didn't mean the first time." Snow opens the cap and smells it hesitantly, making a face and then putting the bottle down again. "You gave me quite a lot of wine that year."

She's being as transparent as glass and it's burning at me, making me want to break her in a million pieces and toss her in the garbage with the rest of the things I've broken this week.

"This isn't going to work, so go and whore yourself to someone else." I snap in a particularly degrading tone, expecting to get a rise because she doesn't like to be talked down to. That royal blood in her. Instead she only sighs and turns towards me, and I see her transparency starts to grow a shadow behind it, walking with her as she steps towards me.

"I didn't come here _just_ to fight with you, Regina. And I think there's a reason why you haven't kicked me out yet."

"Your desperation is entertaining." My scoff covers the discomfort at her standing in front of me now, but I'm too stubborn to take any steps back.

"You can't say that no part of you misses me." She is _so_ sure of it when she makes that claim, so I give her a dark smile in return.

"Why say it when I'm going to have it engraved on your tombstone?"

"If you don't miss me, I know you miss the control." My jabs do nothing to thwart her, as she reaches up to brush her hand along my jaw, but I'm quick and rough when I grab her wrist in mid-air, because the _audacity_ of it.

"You don't know anything." My voice is nothing but a low growl now, but the grip I have on her arm opens up my defensive stance and she takes another step closer to me because of it. All pouty lipped and looking like sin and innocence all at once. If I was anyone else, the sight alone would bring me to my knees.

"You think I don't know you?" Snow whispers, so close that I feel her breath hit my cheek. "You think I don't know what's driving you mad, being locked away in this house?" The sincerity of her tone makes my anger falter slightly. "Ever since the curse broke you've been powerless in a lot of ways, and sometimes I can't stand how they all look to me to solve every little problem they have. Maybe we both need a little bit of a compromise." As it stands the tension between us is so thick and taught it makes it hard to breath, and her eyes are open and full of the kind of truth that might not be completely fabricated. "You need some control, and I need to be the one to give it to you." But then the seduction is back in her voice, not because she actually wants me, but because she wants me to want her.

I know her too, and I know how her submission works. I know the price of controlling her body—the exchange of power. She gets control of my mind.

There's a steep price, but an enticing offer. One I always have a hard time refusing, and at the moment I'm at my lowest. I've had no control over anything for far too long, having everything I had being taken away so quickly, and it's making me feel unraveled. Snow does know me, and she uses it just like always.

"Does Emma know you're here?" I ask suddenly, bringing a spark in her eyes, not missing a beat.

"No. I imagine she'd be devastated to find out." There's a shadow of a smile on her face at that, and it burns my blood all the more. All this is just some child's game to her, just like everything is to her. Anything that suits her fancy, anything that gives her control over the people around her. It's the royal blood in her, it makes her look at people more like objects to own.

All I have to do is say no. To just be strong enough to say no to her.

It infuriates me.

Boils my blood.

Because she's pulling at my insides with the look on her face, as I pull her by the grip I have on her arm, crashing our lips together.

The kiss is violent and undone, the tension snapping and breaking against the force of it. She keeps my pace, urges me on, making it feel like a led weight lifting from my chest. She tastes just like how I remember, and I hate her for it. With as many lies she has spoken, her mouth should taste like poison. Snow wraps her arms around my neck as I pull her into me, our bodies flush and minds dizzied with the passion behind the kiss. I break away to breath, looking down to her blouse and when I start to unbutton it without hesitation, I realize that there's no going back now.

"How long has it been?" She breathlessly asks, as if she doesn't remember.

"Not long enough." I grind the words out through a clenched jaw and kiss her again so that she would shut up, the soft feeling of her skin being exposed more with every button being undone. I break away only to let my eyes linger on the swell of her breasts, perfectly held by the blue lace of her bra. I want to tear her apart, starting with that bra.

"Not since before you poisoned me." Snow continues, as if we're just reminiscing about the good old days. My mouth pushes against her ear.

"I should've just cut your throat." Then I trace the trail my dagger should have taken with my tongue and teeth, nipping and sucking at her gently.

"I was starving." I feel the words vibrate against my lips, and it makes me slow my movements, getting myself distracted by her. "My hunting skills were still something to be desired, and food was scarce everywhere." Snow doesn't need to recant the memory, I remember it. "I didn't have a choice, so I came back to the castle…spent a week in your bed and you gave me enough food to feed an army."

She had passed out when I found her, in the upper halls of the castle and I thought the gods were being kind enough to bestow a gift. But it was an empty meaningless gift that left me lacking satisfaction. There was a difference between ending a life yourself and having someone do it for you. I learned that with the huntsman. Snow pulled at my sentimentality just long enough to gain her strength back, then she was a bandit once more. Her hunting skills never did surpass her skills for manipulation. I've stilled completely, taking a steadying breath before moving back to face her.

"I've missed you." She says oh so seriously, with her doe eyes and bated breath. It makes me sick and angry, thinking that she was probably rehearsing those words in the mirror, probably about to say the same thing to Emma when she gets home _. I've missed you. I love you. No one makes me feel the way you do._ I grip her shoulders and turn her around so I don't have to look at her infuriating face. My mouth moves behind her ear, and Snow leans against the feeling while I continue unbuttoning her blouse.

"You think a few well-placed words and your body is enough to beat me?" I whisper in a harsh tone. "That this is going to stop me from getting to Emma? She's going to see that you're only using her, that using people is the only thing you know how to do."

As I'm pulling her blouse off of her shoulders, I think about burning her cloths so she has nothing to wear home but her shame.

"You have to admit," Snow starts with a hum and a playful voice. "A part of you hates it because you're jealous of her."

My laugh is rough and distracted because my hands are busy moving along the waistband of her pants.

"You're insane." I don't even want to dignify that with an actual response.

"It was the same way with David," She continues none the less. "You would do anything—go to any lengths—to keep me apart from him."

My hand is quick and rough, wrapping fingers around her neck and pulling her back against me. She tenses slightly against the action.

"Because you don't deserve to be happy with anyone." I growl into her ear, my grip on her tightening. Snow is silent for a moment before responding quietly;

"Only miserable with you."

She's wrong. I don't want her with me either. I want her gone and forgotten, no part of her lingering inside me. I should've just used the memory spell on myself, instead of making it for Emma. If being with me is the only way she's miserable though, I'll take what I can get. At least for tonight.

My hands slide around the curve of her hips, undoing the button on her jeans, and opening it up enough so my hand can slide in and underneath the material of her underwear, my eyes closing at how wet she is and breath stopping when I hear her shuddering exhale at the feeling.

"Poor Snow White…" A single finger moves through her folds and finds her clit easily, her reacting to me so easily, as if no time has passed at all. Whimpering and bowing her back against me, pushing her hips into my hand. "So miserable, aren't you?"

Snow's hand reaches behind her to run through my hair, moaning at my movements between her legs, and when she speaks I hear the smile in her voice.

"You have no idea."

My lips find their place on the spot between her neck and shoulder, a free hand of mine moving between us to undo the clasp of her bra. As it falls the floor and she moves to the fluidity of my finger's rhythm, I feel like every part of me is wrapping around her like curls of smoke, twisting and facing her again then turning and leading us to my bed, peeling off the last of her cloths. Her jeans and underwear are pulled down her legs in one motion, then she bends over the edge of the bed with the force of my hand smacking at the newly exposed skin. She cries out at the shock of it, and I wonder how many times I can do it before she cries out at the pain of it alone. It's only an idle thought, but her hands are gripping at the white sheets, surprising me by asking for more. Wanting a punishment I'm sure she doesn't believe she deserves, but that makes a part of me want to punish her all the more. Her begging for it isn't helping me keep my frustration under control. I let it out on her, gripping her hair and pushing her farther down against my sheets, and I tell her what I always tell her;

"If you tell me to stop, I will."

She never does though, leaving her back side sore and marked with a deep red, and my hand ached from the force. Both of us are out of breath, but she takes everything I have and more, she takes it and pulls it out of me until I feel an emptiness inside my chest. My hands run over the back of her shaking thighs gently, lifting them to help her on the bed fully. Snow moves onto her side, to watch me unzip the back of my dress and letting it pool at my feet, and the sight has her sighing in a dreamy sort of way, while I crawl onto the bed to be next to her.

"You're just as beautiful as when I first met you."

My eyebrows knit at her intended compliment.

"No, I'm not." I say, pushing her onto her back and straddling her hips, making her she cringe and let out a hiss of air at the pressure on her abused backside. "I'm not at all like I was when you first met me." My hands grip her forearms and pin her down without any resistance, kissing her as my hips grind down on hers, pushing her back against the mattress even more and she whimpers a bit from the pain.

Snow gets used to it though, pushing back into me, and I adjust to press a thigh against her, getting dizzy at how aroused she feels, soaking into my skin. She tells me that she needs me, and fingers replace my thigh as the first formation of the words fall from her lips. Her hands keep her grounded while she grips steadily at my mattress with one, and my keeps hold of my shoulder with another, making sure I don't move too far away from her. The way she's clenching against my finger, sliding against my thumb, and rocking her hips to their pace, it's making me never want to leave. I'm leaning on one arm that's next to her head, so I brush the bangs from her eyes, strands of her hair already sticking to her face from sweat, and every sound she makes is more beautiful than the last, giving a moan when I push a second finger inside her. It's quick after that though, that she's gasping out that she wants another, even though she's tight with two, but I move slow and try for three. There's a sharp look of pain on her face, so I stop moving.

"Don't stop." Snow whispers, looking at the ceiling, but I stay still regardless, so she starts to move her hips against my hand, gasping sharply at every thrust.

Once I feel her adjust more, I move with her.

"Harder." She orders, but I only go slower.

"Why do you want me to hurt you?" I whisper, because I know her more than I'd like, and I see through her more than I actually see her.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" She says back, looking at me with half closed and unfocused eyes, making my mind go blank. "All those—" She shifts her hips and takes a moment to get her breath back from the sensation. "All those threats of my pain and destruction."

"Not like this." This isn't supposed to be about punishing her, it's only supposed to be about gaining back a little control. I feel as lost as ever though.

"Like what then?" She laughs, and it cracks against her dry voice. I start to move my hand away from her, but as soon as I do, she grabs my wrist and keeps me in place, locking eyes with me. " _This_ is as close to it as you're ever going to get." Snow gives the arrogant jab with a half smirk, before moving fingers in my hair and gripping hard to pull me into a dizzying kiss. It does make me angry, her thinking she's so protected, so safe that I'd never be able to reach her outside of this bed. So I kiss her back and curve the fingers inside her just slightly, feeling her moan against my mouth at the action.

My lips move down to kiss at her neck, giving her opportunity to whisper in my ear. This time it's more begging than demanding.

"Harder."

My teeth sink into her neck and fingers gain back its rhythm, feeling a new rush of arousal on my hand. She cries out at the sensation, but holds me closer to her all the same. Wanting this pain that I'm giving her, despite my hesitance. Knowing her though, it's probably because of it.

I leave more marks on her, lips scorching their way down her chest, sucking and biting, each one harder than the last, and each time her hips move faster. Snow starts murmuring my name in this beautiful and distant sort of chant, calling out for me in a way that it feels like it's the only word she knows.

She gasps suddenly as I'm pulling a nipple roughly between my teeth, my other hand dragging nails roughly down her back. My eyes open to her body starting to shake from a coming orgasm that I know it will only take the smallest push to get there. My mind starts to simplify in the haze of our passion. Starts to break things down in pure urges and instincts, in the feeling of it and the sound of it, in what's hers and what's—

"Mine." I whisper against her chest. "You're mine."

Snow falls absolutely apart underneath me, as if every part of her is unraveling, starting with her throat as she cries out just for it to dwindle into a long groan. Her arched back and the waves of climax that I can feel against my hand has me closing my eyes with an ear to her breast bone, listening to the rapid beats of her heart that are pumping only for me. At least for tonight.

After a few long moments of still settling between us, I take my fingers away from her, making her whimper at the loss, but then she's moaning again when they move inside her mouth. Snow tastes herself with enthusiasm, and I feel the arousal in my lower stomach pull even harder. She'll be lucky if I let her even leave by morning, with how perfectly she fits under me and against my bed. As soon as she can focus enough on me, I kiss her and I taste her and I smell her—she's engulfing every sense I have and it makes me feel drunk.

Our lips break apart slightly, sharing a breath before I'm moving back more to focus my eyes on her face. No one could ever deny her beauty, not even me, so I just bask in it for a moment. Finding a single thing about her that I don't despise, and that's the way she's looking at me in this moment.

"Yours."

I don't expect her to say that, but mostly I don't expect the sudden vulnerability of her tone. My mind searches for a meaning to it, until I realize that it's an answer to my words that I didn't mean. They weren't true, despite how tempting the thought is in the heat of the moment. She has never been mine. Still my sight meets hers, those wide green eyes doing an expert job of tearing apart my insides as always, my heart, my head, and my lungs being ripped to shreds and bleeding out. Any plans to focus on anything else are forgotten now with a ragged breath and an aching chest, her look dragging my mind back to our castle and wrapped in her sheets just as she's wrapped in mine. Snow would tell me that she loved me since the first moment she saw me, and I would barely even remember such a time. It was just about getting through the next moment, and then the next day, and it was easier to do when I was in Snow's bed. Drunk on wine and ivory skin. Drunk on the pain of her wide green eyes tearing apart my insides.

My eyes close tightly to get the images out of my head, but it only intensifies them. Her fingertips run along my temple and into my hair gently, carrying the rush of memories with them.

It was a yearlong affair, infecting me and having my mind poisoned by her. I didn't realize how deep I was in until all my fantasies of killing the King involved her by my side. She was her father's pet, always at his side and never allowed much freedom of her own, it was because of that, because I recognized the hidden misery in her eyes as my own, that I thought she'd want me more than she wanted her own blood. I was wrong though.

Her loyalty was with him and never me, never understanding how such a _good_ man, such a _giving_ and _generous_ man would have such an ungrateful wife. She left me to his punishment, and that was all it took for my fantasies to turn into killing the King with her by **his** side.

Snow would tell me that she loved me. She said it like a prayer, over and over again. I know now that's not what love is. It's not pain, or control.

I know that now.

This girl has dragged my mind down to hell and back in the short time of a few hours. Making me doubt myself and my place, making me ready to fall right back into her and stay there until she's bored of me. She's trying to get under my skin and now all I want to do is rip it right off my bones. I won't let her though, not this time. I won't fall for this again.

My body shifts away from her rather suddenly, not wanting anymore of her thoughts in my head. Moving away from her in bed without a glance back and standing to walk over to my closet, grabbing a robe because now I'm just cold all over.

"So I'm guessing we won't be cuddling in the afterglow?" She asks, not at all surprised, leaning up on her elbows.

"I have no disillusioned sense of you, dear." The cold is settling deeper, and an emptiness that she leaves in her wake is starting to grow. It's hard to look at her now, naked but not a bit vulnerable, green eyes dissecting my every move. "This was just me fucking you, and I hope you enjoyed it because you're going to have to beg on your knees to convince me not to tell anyone about this." I take some steps back over to the bed, giving a smirk that I don't feel. "Especially Emma."

Snow gives a mock show of consideration.

"Maybe you should tell Emma." I falter at that, watching her move off the bed as well to stand in front of me. "Even David, if you'd like. I could help by giving them the proof." My eyes narrow with suspicion and a growing anger. "The scratch marks and bruises, the way I won't be able to walk straight for a week." She moves her hands over the physical signs of our violence. Fingers along her neck tracing red lines and darkened patches of skin. "You really did a number on your own step-daughter."

" _You_ kept pushing me to be rough." I try to defend, but realize how stupid I sound as I say it, because of course she did. Of course.

"I didn't have to push that hard." She points out her voice whispering and patronizing, and my hands make fists, wanting to snap her neck, or burn her alive, but it would ultimately only make her die a hero and leave me to die for the crime of her murder.

"You're going to tell them that I raped you? Really, Snow?" I snap with eyes full of red, not keeping a reign on my anger. "That's something you would've done a long time ago, if you were going to do it at all."

Her face twists in anger as well, her voice sharp and it takes me aback slightly.

"I didn't have a daughter a long time ago, and you don't have a _single_ idea what I would do to protect my relationship with her." Snow takes a step towards me, but I don't budge. "You should understand my conviction more than anyone, because you're a mother to Henry, and all you want is to be with him again." My mouth opens, ready to shut her down for even mentioning his name to me, ever. She's not done with me yet though. "And all he wants is for you to be a better person, but I already have bruises to prove that you'll never change. I just have to let anyone see me in this state, and you'd never see the outside of a cell…at the very best." She finishes, and I stay silent, weighing my options and not trusting my own voice to respond, my breathing is fast and hard though. Snow takes the silence as a victory, of course, so her features soften, scanning my face for something she doesn't see.

"The only thing I wanted was for you and I to be a family," I look away from her because the emotions in her eyes will only hurt. "And you turned me away every chance you could. Past is past though, and I'm done fighting you. Understand?"

Well. I did know the price of her submission, and now I'm paying it. I shouldn't even be angry at her for it, even though I am anyway. It's not a defeat though, it's a sloppy blackmail, and it's only an obstacle. I still have chips in on this bet. Our give and take of control that happened in my bed ended up letting me take more power than she intended to give, because her eyes are full of victory. I always learned the hard way that celebrating a win you haven't earned only brings bad consequences. My rising smirk is dark.

"I hate you."

"So, is that Regina speak for a stand still between us? I don't want to check up on everything you do, because it can be exhausting." Her tone is all nonchalance, but as Snow raises her hand to trace fingertips along my jaw, it's a hesitant action and one that is fearful of my unpredictable temper. I give her nothing though, not reacting to the touch despite my urge to cringe. That victory is back in her green eyes, along with a small smile. "There are benefits to behaving, Regina."

She sounds just like her father.

It makes me lean in and kiss her, catching her off guard, not so much with the kiss, but with the soft tenderness that's behind it, taking her lips in mine with slow and dizzying intent. I've never kissed her like it before, but the last night of King Leopold's life, I kissed him just like this.

A kiss of death.

\\\


	3. The Scar (1 of 2)

**AN:** I really wanted this last part to be one chapter, but it's turning into a very long and tedious experience, so Part 3 is going to be two chapters. This was exhausting to write this, and I'm still not sure exactly why I did so be kind. To recap; last time we saw my terrible versions of beloved characters, Emma was in love with Snow, Regina was in hate with Snow, and Snow just wants everyone to get along (by manipulating everyone all the time). So now Snow and Regina are in a back and forth war to get the upper hand, and Emma is just kind of regressing into a hormonal teenage state instead of being a grown up about anything.

This is in Snow's POV.

Warnings: Incest. Dub-con.

* * *

" _Regardless, my love for you is something that can't be erased in this life or the next. You're in my heart, carved out and nestled with the blood that we share, and the scar is in the shape of your name."_

* * *

 **Part III. The Scar**

 **{1/2}**

* * *

 _The curse broke, and so did I. You were still who you always were, but my mind was filled with another life and more roles to more people._

 _It broke, and so did you. Clinging at me and needing me like a child would, but I've only ever known you as a woman._

 _It broke and took away happiness just as curses are always meant to do._

* * *

Sometimes I mother her, fuss over cuts or scraps she gets at work, or I do her nails and braid her hair on the couch while movies play, or we bake something together and make a mess of the kitchen. She claims I can't make a cookie to save my life, but she still eats them when they're done cooling, just because it makes me smile.

Those times are my favorite.

Not that I don't enjoy other times as well. It has been an interesting adjustment when the two of us accepted the darker aspects of our relationship. Though it brought a light into it as well. A balance. A love more encompassing and complete than I've ever experienced. Something overwhelming to the point of panic, yet as content as still water. Something I never thought I would want is something I'll never let go. Emma is my whole world now, and even if there's tension at times, the searching for a role that such displacement can cause—even if the darker aspects get darker as the nights go on, twisting and turning in our head like a hungry beast that's never satisfied. Still. The love is there.

She still loves me, and I will do anything to keep her happy and with me.

* * *

 _If you never believe anything I've ever said, or ever will say,_

 _Just know that I didn't mean for any of this to happen._

* * *

Emma is trying on dresses for me at the local boutique, and she's doing a fine job pretending to hate it. Even if I see the flush on her cheeks every time I praise her for wearing what I picked out. I'm sitting outside the singular fitting room, as a few random customers are roaming through the store. Emma comes out in a white sundress with big and bold green flowers printed on it.

"This is my favorite one." I say, with wide and excited eyes, and an admiring tone.

"You've said that about all of them." She responds, with a playful eye roll, turning to the side to look at herself in the full length mirror that the store has hanging up outside the fitting rooms. I stand up to move behind her, looking at her through the mirror as well.

"I mean it though. This one. It brings out your eyes." She smiles along with me at that, while I straighten out stray creases in the shoulders of the dress, and adjust the fall of her long blonde hair that Emma has put up in a ponytail for the day. The cloths and the hair makes her look so much younger than she is, all bright colors and shining cheeks. She comes off as no older than eighteen. "You look so beautiful." I say, full of sincerity and emotion, and the compliment makes her smile even brighter. I sigh, and run my hands down her arms, linking our fingers together, still facing the mirror, but all I see is her. "Sometimes, I can't stand how much you've grown without me." My voice cracks a bit, so I clear my throat and turn her around, keeping my eyes on her dress, pulling and shifting it so that it fits just right, wondering if I'll have to take it in at all around the waist. Emma's eyes are burning into me.

"Do you remember your mother?" I look up at her, not expecting such a question, and with such a genuine curiosity. "Your real mother." Emma clarifies.

"Yes." I say simply, looking back down at the dress. I don't talk about her very often anymore. Maybe a passing memory to David, but even without mentioning it, she's always in the back of my mind. "She passed away when I was eight."

"What was she like?"

After a shaky breath I meet Emma's eyes again with a sad smile.

"She was known for her beauty but admired for her kindness. She taught me what it was to be a true leader, to understand my people, and to know empathy." My smile fades a little at the thought. "The world never seemed quite as bright after she died."

"I'm sorry." My daughter takes my hand again, squeezing it gently for good measure.

"I've lost a lot of my family. That's why it's so important to me." My words remind me once again how much Emma means to me, and how I'll never lose her again. No matter what.

* * *

I come back from putting the other dress choices away and tell her to keep the green one on for now, which she does, albeit somewhat reluctantly. When I walk back she's in the fitting room, the door slightly ajar and checking her phone. Probably texting her father and checking in on his shift alone at the station. I've already lightly scolded her a few times for doing that today. I come up behind her and playfully snatch the phone out of her hands mid text.

"Hey—"

"So, can we agree on this dress for your birthday outfit?" I close to the fitting room door behind me to get to Emma's purse that's hanging off a hook on the back of it. It's not a particular large space, but there's enough room for two people, barely. I drop the phone in her purse, before glancing at it quick to make sure it was her father she was messaging, which I'm right to think as much.

"I prefer jeans." Emma huffs a bit, not for the first time today, as I turn back around to face her.

"You have to wear a dress at least once a year, you are technically royalty, after all."

"Fine." She rolls her eyes and I arch an eyebrow at her. She's acting as young as she looks today, but she does get into her moods, especially when she's with me. Acting out like an angst ridden teen. Emma must be making up for lost time, I suppose.

"So cooperative." Sarcasm laces my words, then the gears in my head start turning, followed by a smirk soon after. "I think it might help if we wore the dress out of the store today. So you can get more used to it."

She looks at me for a moment, wondering if I'm being serious or not.

"Oh, come on." Emma chuckles lightly, but my expression doesn't waver, so her face falls. I take a half of a step towards her, which puts us practically nose to nose.

"And a dress this beautiful," I reach down to catch the hem of the dress with my fingers, settled at her knees. She tenses and eyes widen as hands move up her thighs, dragging nails lightly and making her stumble back slightly. "Doesn't need any additions to it." I curl my hands around the waistband of her underwear, and as I pull them down long legs, I feel her slightly shaking thighs against my fingers.

"What are…?" She whispers, and I let the white cotton drop to her ankles, looking down to enjoy the visual before lightly tapping the back of her thigh to indicate what I wanted, with my hands still under her dress. Without hesitation she steps out of them. I feel her shaky breath against my cheek, carrying the faint smell of bubblegum she was chewing earlier, and I feel that dark pull against my insides when Emma says my name; _Mom_.

My eyelids get heavy and I look at her again, watching those cheeks get redder and pupils get blacker. My hands move out from under her dress and to the back of it, tracing the zipper along her spine, keeping my sight on hers as I undo it just enough to be able to slip my fingers in to unhook the clasp of her bra.

Emma's eyes widen, and so does my smile along with all my dark intentions.

* * *

It's a nice day outside, but the bite that the wind has is undeniable, and my smirk is back when I see Emma cross her arms over her chest. No amount of cool wind seems to cut away at the heat in her cheeks though. Our car is parked a few blocks down the street, so it makes for a leisurely walk that I drag on as long as I can. Window shopping and side eyeing Emma's grumbling.

Once we're in front of a small jewelry store on the downtown stretch, I stop and let myself get lost in thought.

"Let's pop in here real quick." I announce, my eyes catching on a pair of pearls that were being displayed in the window. Emma didn't seem too keen on the idea though, whispering next to me.

"Okay, you proved your point, and I'm feeling more than just a little exposed here so I'm going to wait in the car."

Which we both know she won't be doing without the keys that I had in my purse, so her tone was more apologetic than demanding. I turn my head away from the window and towards her, with a hundred-watt smile.

"Real quick." I repeat with a wink, and she rolls her eyes in response.

Once we're in the store, I don't waste much time browsing and instead ask the bored looking owner to let us see the pearl necklace that was one of the many pieces being displayed in the shop window. He manages to tear himself away from his phone long enough to get them for me, while Emma finds herself in a corner of the shop that she can sulk in. The man goes back behind his counter as I walk up to my daughter.

"I know it's dangerous to mess with perfection," My voice has a smile in it and it draws her attention slightly, mostly her eyes are skirting over my shoulder and clocking the shopkeeper, no doubt making sure his eyes stay on the phone. "But won't these look stunning with your dress?" The pearl necklace is held up for her to glance at as I nod my head slightly and deliberately, causing the blush to run down her neck as Emma slowly drops her crossed arms. I look over her and watch quickly hardening nipples that can't be blamed on the warm air of the store.

"Perfection." I whisper and lean in to put the necklace on for her, wrapping my arms around Emma's neck and bringing our bodies just a hair's length away, as I connect the hook and hear her shaky breathing. Then I'm running my fingers along the string of pearls, feeling the smooth bumps, while the back of my knuckles run along the front of her chest and along the curve of her breasts. I feel her nipples pebble harder as I brush against them, looking down at Emma's neckline, and seeing them even more prominently through the material of her dress. The pull of arousal hits me hard in my stomach, licking my bottom lip subconsciously, as she bites hers.

Quickly I'm turning around towards the owner still sitting behind the counter and pulling out my credit card.

"Can she wear them out?" I ask cheerfully, walking over and handing my card to the now smiling man, and Emma crosses her arms over her chest once more.

* * *

There are spotlights on a stage of every version of Emma that exists. Every part of her that makes her real and my daughter and the savior and the sheriff. One by one the lights go out in my brain, making all my thoughts and reservations, all the things that bring a heaviness to my limbs and a nausea to my stomach—one by one it's pushed back to a place I can't see.

And the cold darkness leaves one light on, and it's her. Wearing pearls.

She keeps the necklace on, but damned if I'm going to ruin such a pretty dress before her birthday, so the garment is hanging neatly on the back of the door at one of the Inn rooms that we're staying at for the night. Emma insisted. She wanted me all to herself today, just the two of us.

It feels like it's only us in the entire world for the short time we have together, sharing each other's space and moving together in a rhythm, sharing breaths and whispering the things we can never say too loud.

 _You're mine,_

 _Please,_

We both needed this, to bring strength to our bond. It gets difficult to have time to ourselves in the crowded apartment, and the more nights I sleep in bed with David, the more sullen and drawn away I feel her become.

 _I need you,_

 _I need more,_

Sometimes though, I do sneak into bed with her once he's gone to sleep. Not for anything sexual, but just to feel the warmth and physical touch of each other. It kills me that she never grew up to know her mother's touch, and I try to make up for that fact as often as I can.

 _Open up for me,_

 _Let me in,_

Tonight isn't about being a mother though, and I can tell that from the look in her eyes. She wants Mary Margaret tonight, and who am I to say no to that face? Those wide green eyes and red cheeks, and the whimpering as she tries to muffle into one of the pillows. Neck twisted to the side, on her back and open for me, and that dark part of us takes over like it always does and tears us apart.

 _Say it, baby,_

 _Mommy, please…_

Sometimes this part is my favorite, building her up and watching how hard she crashes down. Emma will fall apart right down to molecules, and I put her back together putting my love in every little piece.

And sometimes, this part is my favorite. I'm watching her small smile and sleepy eyes as the night grows later and we lie in bed and curled against each other. Enjoying the feel of each other and pretending like tomorrow doesn't exist.

* * *

 _I did try to fight against my feeling for you, I cried over you and it tore apart my thoughts. You made it so hard to separate the two roles though, because every time you looked at me, I could see it—that tension between us that we're never meant to share._

 _You made it so easy to fall back into lover's arms, while the world claimed it a mother's embrace._

* * *

Everything goes perfectly when planning Emma's birthday party. Granny caters at the Diner, decorations line the walls, drinks on the tabletops, and everyone shows up to bring good cheer and gifts. All the while my daughter is being a perfect princess the whole time, polite and courteous as taught. The dress she's wearing looks gorgeous and I even convince David to wear a tie.

Everything is perfect and just the way I planned it. Which is wonderful, with no surprises, no disasters, and nothing very interesting.

That is until Regina shows up.

She strolls in as the queen she's always been, shattering the sea of pastel cloths with her sharp black pant suit, and a pristine white blouse. Her hair and make-up looking perfect as always, and I very discreetly wrap my hand around David's arm because the sight of it weakens my legs a bit. A hush falls over the Diner, but her smile and dish of lasagna that she immediately presents to Granny with a genuine smile, causes the stir of voices to rise back into its normal conversations. Everyone knew Regina was invited, but most of us didn't think she'd show. I certainly didn't expect it, as she's been quiet since her and I were together at her mansion. Quiet, but I'm sure calculating her chance to take back control, because that's what she's lived for for so long, I doubt she knows any other way. Still, I tell myself that I've been enjoying the peace between us these last few weeks, despite the wounds it opened to create it, and despite how temporary it may be.

I've enjoyed the peace, until I see her stroll up to Emma with her predatory stride and heels clicking, and a war breaks out inside my head. That constant conflict that she creates, full of desire and protectiveness. Most of the time I'm telling myself that there was only one reason I was with Regina that night, and it was to keep her away from Emma. Still, at this moment it's hard to deny that there's always a nostalgic longing for her, not simply sexual alone, but a longing for love and acceptance that she's always only given in the smallest doses, overpowered by her claims of revenge and hate for me. I can never trust Regina, which makes me want to fall into her all the more. Just to make things interesting again.

There's a big part of me that has been convinced I was done with all things involving Regina. We got what we needed to get from each other, one last time, but seeing her again after such an intense and emotional encounter is leaving me so utterly affected. A lack of control that she always takes so easily from me.

Regina walks up to my daughter and my eyes are on them like a hawk. David and I are standing next to the diner bar, but not far enough from Emma so that I can't see or hear anything the former mayor may say to her. An outstretched hand is accepted graciously, but Regina takes the opening to turn it into a half hug and kiss on the cheek, which makes my own cheeks start to burn red.

"Emma, so nice to see you." Regina states regally and pulls back from the hug with a smile, making no indication that their last meeting was full of such tension a few weeks ago at the police station. Emma lets go of her hand with a mumbled 'thanks'. "This dress looks lovely, but I must admit that I prefer your style of leather and denim." I can see the flush run up Emma's neck and I roll my eyes at the line. "Regardless of how seamlessly the green in your dress goes…" Regina looks to the side and meets my line of sight with flawless ease. "With your eyes."

We stand off like that for almost a moment too long until the sound of Henry coming up to Regina is all the former queen can focus on.

"Mom!" He exclaims, which brings the most genuine smile across her face, and I've never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at Henry. That conflict in my head dims to make way for a slow burning jealousy that starts to form clouds, until Emma blocks my view of the mother and son while she walks up to me and takes my hand.

"My party is great, thank you." She says, and I visibly shake myself out of my thoughts to smile at her.

"Your father did the decorations." My hint doesn't go unnoticed, so I move out from the crook of his arm so that she can give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Emma is being perfect tonight, and I should be thinking about a reward for her, but all I do is watch Regina talk to Henry at a far booth, both oblivious to anyone else.

A while later, something pulls my grandson's attention, leaving Regina alone and before I know it, I'm bringing two glasses of red wine to her booth. She hasn't had a drink all night, and I might have had a few too many, which is a rare combination for us.

"Regina, I'm glad you came." I say lightly as I place one of the wine glasses in front of her and sit in the spot where Henry was a moment ago. She looks over to me with a glare the entire time, but it isn't full of death and destruction. Just a light fire. It keeps me warm.

"I can tell." Her voice is velvet and sharp all at once, and combined with the wine I've already had, it makes my breath catch. "You haven't stopped watching me since I got here."

"Can you blame me? You look stunning." I take a sip of wine that doesn't satisfy my thirst. Regina considers me for a moment, raising her eyebrow and looking away.

"Thank you."

I almost laugh at how sharp and resentful the words are.

"You're very appeasing tonight." Maybe I do chuckle a bit, unconvinced of her trying to play nice. It makes her look back at me with no humor on her face.

"If you're looking for a fight or a fuck to make things more interesting for you, then you're not going to get it." Regina pushes her untouched wine glass away from her slightly. "I'm here for Henry, and nothing else."

I will admit, she does know me better than anyone. A part of me doesn't even realize that I'm trying to get a rise out of her until she lays out my flaws on the table. It's refreshing, in a way. Infuriating in other ways.

"You're a good mother to him, I can tell." I try to keep the jealousy out of my voice, but she makes it hard with the snide retort that follows.

"As if _you_ could tell such a thing."

My next drink of wine is more generous, only to keep myself from going down to her level. Once the drink is done though, so is my filter.

"Perhaps my experience with mothering figures is a bit—…warped."

That turns her sight red, and I feel the rush of temporary victory because of it. She leans in and over the table slightly, making sure no one but me can hear her.

"Stop your train of thought." Regina orders harshly. "I was drunk most every day just to survive the nights, and _you're_ the one who took advantage of that." I don't know if she's talking about our time at the castle, or more recently when I was with her at her mansion. Either way she may have a point. I do always like her better drunk because it makes her more honest. As it is, she's full of a sobering pain, and that pain comes through in her tone regardless of how she tries to stop it. "I never raised you—I was never _anything_ to you, least of all a mother."

It's a kind of pain that isn't true, regardless of how hard she tries to believe it. Just like every time, she looks to me for an escape, and I'm always more than happy to get lost with her. We oblige each other. Living in that castle wasn't easy for either one of us, and the nights weren't always hers to survive—

"What do you mean by that?" She sort of snaps, her sight narrowing but not out of anger, more of a confusion.

I didn't realize I had spoken. I feel my throat close along with my mind, suddenly not remembering my train of thought. Or much of anything, really.

Cold chills start run through me, but my face flares hot—

The very next thing I know, I'm throwing up in the back alley behind Granny's. My hand is against the brick of the wall, hunched over and breathing heavy between dry heaves. I look over to see Regina standing next to me, but she's not watching me, her head is turned past me and trying very hard to look annoyed.

Luckily, I was able to avoid my blouse from getting ruined by the sudden sickness I don't remember. Once I feel the spasms settle in my stomach, I spit once for good measure then stand up from the wall, letting go of it and using the back of my hand to wipe at my lips. If Regina had a handkerchief or napkin with her, I'm sure she would already be offering it to me. Trying very hard to look annoyed all the while.

"What happened?" I ask with a rough voice, turning to face her and wishing I could have some water to just get rid of the taste.

"You tell me." Regina counters back and waits, but I don't have anything to say so her waiting turns into a curious examination of my face. Looking for lies that are never there, as usual. Finally, she clears her throat. "You started mumbling some nonsense and then got very pale."

Cautious to step over to where the ground is dry, I lean my back on the brick of the wall, not confused or concerned. Regina on the other hand tries very hard not to seem either confused or concerned.

"It's a good thing I took you outside before you traumatized my son by reenacting scenes from The Exorcist." That annoyed tone is betrayed by her eyes that won't leave mine. I cross my arms against the chill of the night and it makes me wish I had the blazer that she's wearing. "It was quite an episode."

I roll my eyes lightly, but then just end up closing them against the headache.

"I probably just drank too much." It comes out more as a sigh, no fight prevalent in my voice anymore, just exhaustion. It smells like garbage and vomit in this alley, and for a moment I just want to lay down and die here. The feeling will pass with my nausea though.

"You've done this before."

The words just hang there in the darkness behind my eyelids.

"You've seen me drink wine before." I reply, but it sounds far away, like I'm more remembering the words than speaking them.

"Has this happened since the curse broke?" Regina's voice is softer and closer, causing me to match her gaze that never leaves my face. Curious brown eyes trying to decipher some kind of code inside me. As if she hasn't already examined every part of my mind and body a thousand times over. The only thing she hasn't had her fingers in is my heart, but I still feel her there regardless.

"It was just the wine." I'm tired now, and I don't want to play any more games. She steps closer to me, and I stand up straight off the wall, her eyes scan over the sleeveless blouse I'm wearing, and then after a beat she smoothly takes off her blazer to put it around my shoulders. It's disconcerting to see her use such a caring and innocent action towards me, but any nervous feeling from it is dimmed by the immediate smell of her perfume that's engulfing my senses, and her blazer is warm, so I cross my arms under it, holding it closer to me.

"Guilt can be a terribly destructive thing, can't it?" That voice is all velvet now, and I blink slowly at the sound, her scent and warmth forming clouds in my head, but then I remember who she is, and who I am to her.

"How would you know? You're incapable of such a thing." I reply as stern as I can manage after clearing my throat, because if she thinks she has suddenly gained an upper hand just because I drank too much, then she certainly has another thing coming. "But I'm aware of the things you _are_ capable of, so what angle of my destruction are you playing at here?"

"Excuse me?" Regina asks with mock surprise. "I'm only doing what you told me to do. I'm behaving, and as you said there are benefits to it. Don't throw a fit just because I don't wish for my benefits to involve you." She talks down to me and gives a cheap dig, but it digs regardless. "Besides, why would I try to destroy you?" Her smile grows dark as she talks, looking me over, and the dark glee rising in her eyes must be because I'm vulnerable right now, not putting on my mask as easily as usual. There's not much Regina enjoys more than hurting me. "You seem to be doing that all on your own." She takes the few steps between us, causing me to push back against the wall, on high alert, and bracing myself for her unpredictable temper.

Instead of violence, she lifts the back of her hand slowly and runs it along my jaw gently, a gentle caress, and I'd honestly prefer her to slap me. The hidden agenda behind her soft voice, and the glint in her eyes, it makes me feel like throwing up again.

The fingers on my jaw trace along my face and settle at my temple, where my pulse is pounding from the headache that's just getting worse.

"Mom?" A small voice comes from the entrance of the alley, and i can tell both of us think it's Henry for a split second, causing her to jerk away from me violently and we both swing around to see Emma standing there. "Regina? What are you guys doing out here?" The line of questions seamlessly shifts from confused to suspicious. "Are you okay?" She asks me, eyes only on me, walking quickly over to me, while the former mayor subtly moves away from us, and it makes me feel warm inside that she's so quick to take my side. Despite Regina's efforts, there's some things that can't replace blood.

"I'm fine, Emma." Her hand goes on my arm when she reaches me, and a quick glance towards Regina shows nothing readable on her face. Not scared or even interested in the encounter playing out in front of her, but the look feels more calculated. "I just drank too much." A comforting small smile is poorly given because I still feel off and nauseous, and I want to get out of this alleyway.

"What did you do to her?" Emma demanded with a restraint of force in her tone. The only reaction it brings from Regina is a light eye roll.

"Certainly not give her wine on an empty stomach."

"She just took me out back, so I could get some air." I countered quickly, not wanting this to escalate into anything more. My hand snags on hers, holding it and squeezing lightly until she looks over to me. "I'm fine, Emma." My insistence seems to calm her down, and she nods, before giving a halfhearted glance back at Regina.

"I'll take it from here."

"Fitting." She responds monotone, before taking a pace back and turning towards the door that leads back into the kitchen of the diner. "I'll go say goodnight to Henry, and my compliments on a wonderful party, Emma."

I watch Emma's unreadable glare towards an unbothered queen that thinks she's one step away from winning.

* * *

Emma drives me home, leaving her own party early despite my insistence that I was fine. My protest is weak though, and I can tell that Emma's angry. I'm not sure if it's all directed towards me, but it is there. So after I clean up in the bathroom, we both head out in David's pick-up truck, barreling down Main Street, my daughter's demeanor changing quickly from princess to sheriff, her red leather jacket tossed over her dress, and the colors of both clash unpleasantly. I'm leaning against the passenger door, feeling small in the large bucket seat, with Regina's blazer folded tight and neat in my lap.

"You want to tell me what's going on with you and Regina?" Her voice sounds far away, and it feels so late in the night already.

"No, because nothing is going on." I whisper just loud enough for her to hear over the engine of the truck, my headache still strong from the blackout I had in the diner.

"I saw her practically on top of you in the alley—" She starts with an exponentially stronger tone.

"It's not like that." I interrupt dismissively, because with Regina things are never as simple as they seem. A simple sway or smirk can mean something terribly destructive, and she can claim my manipulation all she wants, but I never hurt people just for the sake of hurting them. Just to watch the pain on their face.

"And a few weeks ago?" Emma breaks through my thoughts with the question that's she's asked before. "When you went over to her house? What happened then?"

"This again? I thought we were done talking about it." I knew Emma wouldn't let it go though, but tonight isn't the night I wanted to go over it all again, especially with Regina's words still ringing in my ear.

Emma slows the truck down quickly, not enough to make a jerking stop, but before I know it we're pulled over to the side of the road.

"You were done. I wasn't." She shifts into park then turns her body to face me fully. "Did you have sex with her?"

"I had to." I spoke quietly, looking out of the passenger side window. The town was so empty and calm, everyone must still be at the Diner. "It was the only way she would stay quiet about us."

"She forced you?" The air grows heavy at the question, her voice dangerously low and tense.

For a split second I consider lying, because Emma would believe me, and then Regina would lose. Until she's up for another fight at least. So no one ever really wins or loses, and the only real way you can beat Regina is to break her. It's a line I just can't cross, not for nothing.

"No." I whisper, getting lost in thought.

"Mom…" She tries to urge, sounding like she doesn't believe me because I'm not very convincing. My head turns towards her and eyes pin her down with a more confident stare.

"I didn't have a choice that I could see at the time—…But no, she didn't force me." Once she believes me, she waits for me to go on, and the air feels so thick I want to open the windows in the truck. "Regina is just…" I start, but then reconsider. "Look, any weakness I let her exploit was only to protect you. To keep you happy and safe."

Emma's eyes flash angry at me again.

"What does that mean? You're purposely being vague, when you can just say it. You fucked her."

"It was to make sure she didn't tell anyone about us." My voice goes sharp and loud, despite the pounding in my head, because I'm not going to let her talk to me like that. "Unless you want it to be on the front page of the Storybrooke Mirror. You would lose everything, which includes Henry." That starts to take the fight out of her, glancing away from her mother's scolding. "And it's because of _you_ that she even knows to begin with." She cringes at that last part, making me stop and take a breath before I go too far. My thoughts and voice grow less accusing and more pleading, taking one of her hands away from the death grip she has on the steering wheel, which causes her to look down at the action. "I know I just made everything worse, but I was _desperate_ Emma. I was so desperate to protect you."

A long time passes in the silence of the truck, Emma watching my thumb rub absent circles into her palm.

"Is she still in love with you?" My daughter finally asks, almost in a whisper, and it takes a moment to process what she just asked me.

"What?" There's a light scoff that comes from me. "Regina has felt a lot of things for me, but never love."

"She did, once." Her voice sounds young and hurt, and I'm wondering how she would even know such a thing. "She let it slip when she was talking to me at the Station, and tried to cover for it but," Emma shakes her head. "I could tell."

That is interesting.

It was something still on the surface of emotions, this something I didn't even know, but if Regina let it slip after all this time it must be on her mind still. My daughter has a power about her, and it makes me smile with pride.

"I know it means nothing now, but I really only did it for us." I say finally, squeezing her hand and she finally meets my eyes.

"You should've told me though, I could've helped before it got that far."

"What could you do?" I ask with a defeated sigh, the energy for this conversation draining out of me again. "She'll only fill your head with her brand of truth. Regina wants to turn you against me."

She scoffs with the bravery she gets from her father.

"Has it ever occurred to you that I don't care what Regina wants?" Her hand goes up and cups my cheek, and it's because of the empty streets that I allow it. "I love you, and she's not going to come between us." We kiss and she finally smiles, which I return but it's forced.

Emma just sounds so sure, but I can't have the same kind of confidence that she does. I know Regina too well, and the former Queen has a way of lingering.


End file.
